Troubled Souls: The 97th Annual Hunger Games
by 24 with 24
Summary: CLOSED 24-24 COLLAB! The Games kept going after the rebellion failed, and each year is the battle of a lifetime for 24 new tributes. The troubled souls of the 97th Games will never be the same. The Games have become a spectacle of fighting and violence, and has lost the emotional appeal. These tributes aren't heroes... They're all troubled souls.
1. Prologue I

**Information on the 24-24 collab will be below this mandatory snippet of chapter that I have to write in order for this chapter to be legal under fanfiction guidelines and all that fun shit.**

The wind whipped between the buildings of the Capitol, blowing people's hats and wigs off or askew. Parents clutched their children's hands tightly, and children whined about the chill because of the wind. It was a particularly miserable night for the overly fortunate citizens of the Capitol, especially those who were expecting nice weather and had decided to walk instead of finding other means of transportation through the city.

On top of all the wind, dark clouds rolled into the sky like the giant, ominous mutts that they throw into the arenas of the Games, but instead of alluding to death and fear, the clouds simply alluded to rain. And it started to sprinkle on the heads of the people who were already holding tightly to everything they didn't want to blow away, and now they were throwing their hands over their heads, too, shielding themselves from the rain as best they could as they scattered to find some sort of shelter.

She watched outside the window as people bustled through the rainy streets. The television was running in the other room, and her family members were all gathered around it, watching some kind of sitcom.

"Is it raining?" someone called from the living room—her husband.

"Yes," she replied, and then a little louder, realizing she had spoken quietly.

"Come sit down, dear," he said, and she reluctantly left the window, joining him and their children to sit and watch their favorite show together. She smiled, kissing the heads of her young daughter and son and then leaning happily against her husband.

 **I didn't want to do a Head Gamemaker POV, but I decided this was a little different than most so yeah.**

 **And now for the information. If you're not sure what a 24-24 collaboration is, it's basically where 24 authors get together and each write one tribute and create a story together. I've done a few of these before and I've been a mod for most of them, so I know what to do as admin. I intend to get this collaboration running as smoothly as possible once we have all of our authors and tributes in.**

 **There are many spots still open, so come and write with us, and make a few new friends!**

 **To join, either review this story, PM this account, or PM my regular account, InfiniteFinity, and I'll send you the link to the forum! You can also PM my two mods, CelticGames4 and ilovefinnick to get the link. **

**Or if you want, you can just search for the forum. It's called Troubled Souls. **

**I hope to see some people there! :-)**


	2. Prologue II

**Again, all the information on the collab will be below this mandatory snippet of chapter.**

People always assumed that she was a person who only had a mind for the violence in the Hunger Games. While that wasn't a bad thing to the people in the Capitol, the people that ate up the violence in the Games, she still resented that notion, that stereotype. She was the Head Gamemaker, but that didn't make her a one-dimensional person who thought constantly about the Games. She had a home, a family, a life, outside of the Games.

She did happen to plot out a lot of ideas for traps, mutts, and arenas in her spare time, but who was to blame her? She was sure many citizens that weren't even involved in the making of the Games fantasized about the next round of tributes, the next best death in the next Games, the grisly details of the mutts that she would bring to life. It was all over the magazines, even in the off-seasons. Don't tell her she does nothing just because of that, because that's simply not the case.

Her husband came home from work around five. They were rich enough that he didn't need a job, but she understood why he worked anyway. She went crazy during the off-seasons sometimes, which was the main reason she started to plot the next Games while her husband was at work and her children at school.

"Hi," she said, smiling and going to him. She was dreadfully bored. Her daughter was at basketball practice and her son at his gymnastics, so she had been alone since they all left in the morning to do what they did all day. She got bored of being alone, too. She was a _normal person,_ something a lot of people didn't seem to comprehend. They saw her as larger-than-life or something, someone who choreographed their favorite spectacle of the year. It was flattering for a while in the beginning, a long time ago, but it just got boring at one point. Annoying almost.

"Hey," her husband said, his handsome smile spreading across his face. "How has your day been?"

"Oh, boring for the most part," she said, shrugging. She moved close to him and ran a hand through his messy turquoise hair. She had never much liked that color of hair on him, but he liked it, so who was she to go ruining his fun? "How was yours?"

"The same," he replied. "It was slow at work."

She nodded understandingly.

"Did you design anything today?" he asked her.

She smiled and nodded. "Come see," she said, taking his hand and leading him into her study.

 **I'm beginning to like this random Gamemaker I created. Oops.**

 **All right, so, for anyone who doesn't know and didn't read the first chapter, a 24-24 collab is a story where 24 authors write about one tribute each and create a story that way. It's fun and a great way to make new friends on there, and we only have a handful of writers so far. I'd love to see some more people come join us!**

 **To join, PM either this account, my regular account, InfiniteFinity, my mods ilovefinnick or CelticGames4, or review this story, and one of us will PM you the link to the forum!**

 **Or you can just look up the forum if you'd rather. It's called Troubled Souls.**


	3. Prologue III

The man sits on his styling chair while his own personal prep team swarmed about him.

"Look here, Lexus! Give us a smile really fast! Close your eyes, now!" He does as they say. He's not exactly used to having his own personal hair and make-up crew as well as a wardrobe crew and a lighting and camera crew. He's not used to sitting still while dye is put in his hair and make-up on his face by chattering, giggling girls. So far, he can't say he doesn't like it.

A pen of dark purple is pressed against his lids, and he sits still as his eyes are lined to his stylist's liking. Any blemishes are quickly concealed and covered, including his freckles. Lexus likes them but apparently his personal stylists are not fans. Shadow and blush give his face new color, and they even put stuff on his lips. He sits still and lets them do as they please, he doesn't really have much of a choice.

This is the man's (just barely a man at the young age of 24) first ever televised interview, and as if that wasn't enough pressure, it was going to be live. The man adjusts a twine necklace with a wooden cross on it around his neck. He had been adamant about wearing it, his good luck charm, during any interviews he might do.

He is a very lively presence, and very friendly and personable. As a young intern, he had never failed to have a smile for everyone as he was sent off to get coffee and run errands for those in higher positions of power. The older and wiser employees soon began to like the young man's infectious personality. Not to mention the fact that the young man was educated prestigiously well.

He knew much about the Games past, the Games before that dark time when they had attempted a rebellion. Though some consider it taboo to think about, the Victors of the past, especially those that were involved with rebels, it was still an important time in Panem's history.

And it was _definitely_ interesting.

Because, really, who _wouldn't_ want to hear about Panem's first ever Victor, a boy just 16 years of age from District 1? Who _wouldn't_ want to hear of the legacy he created, with the Hunger Games as his outlet? Who _wouldn't_ want to hear of the only second-generation Victor to grace the Capitol?! And, of course, of the fate of his poor, _poor_ brother. Who _wouldn't_ want to know the details of the boy from District 4 who was able to be victorious at just after volunteering at the young age of 14? Who _wouldn't_ want to hear of the supposed star-crossed love that rocked the nation? Oh, the drama! The woe! The misery! But it is simply _divine_ to revel in the events of the past.

However, every snippet the man was able to obtain about the Games before the second rebellion came with a strict warning that the past is the past. Which he understands quite well, really. Just because he knows that the Victor of the 41st Hunger Games committed suicide doesn't make him want to start a rebellion over it.

Even the Capitol icons of those times are looked at with scorn, though many of them are quite admired by the man.

He was given the position to give the Games a new and rejuvenating charm, a new sexy atmosphere with his looks and his beautiful smile, as well as his bubbly personality. He was quite handsome though considered simple. He had one single tattoo, a golden vine with leaves down his neck, and pale skin, not tinted by any unnatural color. His hair is a deep, dark, royal purple, usually styled up out of his face with a lot of shaping gel and his eyes match the beautiful, rich purple color. And his smile was enough to make any woman: any _person_ , for that matter: swoon. His posture and carriage could make anyone feel like royalty, which made him perfect for the job of interviewing. He could make any tribute feel at home right where they were, if only they would let him.

His wardrobe committee helps him into the sparkly purple suit he is to wear for his debut interview: live, in front of the crowd, with the _Head Gamemaker_ , nonetheless…

"Are you ready, Mr. Romero?"

The young man nods, smiling politely and causing her to squeal a little bit from affection.

"Please, my lady, call me Lexus."

 **A/N: Hello there, friends! I'm Celtic, a mod and writer for this story! We have writers but are still in need, so please don't be afraid to check it out.**

 **Again, if you're curious, this story is a 24/24 collab, which means that 24 authors band together, each with one tribute, and we all write a story together. It's a lot of fun and a great opportunity!**

 **To get involved shoot a PM to this account, review this story, or PM InfiniteFinity, me (CelticGames4), or ilovefinnick. Or you can find the forum. It's called Troubled Souls.**

 **Thanks for your time, I hope you check this out!~**


	4. Prologue IV

**_A/N from Fin: Soooo sorry about the delay for some of you who reviewed/PMed us. It's my fault, but I won't let that happen again. We're still going and hoping for a few more spots to be filled!_**

The man sits in his furnished little apartment complex, sitting by the light of a single lamp and reading from a worn little book about the history of Panem. Not the recent stuff, everyone knows about the most recent Victors. Some have gone out of style, and some remain a crowd favorite even to this day.

But, no, as interesting as the present is, the man was studying the past. The Dark Days, words that were never spoken for fear that they would find disfavor with the government. The times back when the Districts were so close to taking down their lovely Capitol… It hurts the loving Capitolites to even think about.

But, one thing did come out of those days, so long ago… The Hunger Games. Since the very First Games, the yearly spectacle has become extraordinary. Each coming year brings more lights, more drama, more extravagance. The vanity of the Capitol is never satisfied, it seems. Every year the tributes are praised more, the knockoffs are more, and the children imagine spectacular scenarios… The Arenas become craftier, the outfits bigger and brighter and better… The Hunger Games have become something special.

And now, the man finds that he is going to be a part of them!

He will be the interviewer this tear. He will get to know the tributes by asking them all questions and having laidback, simple conversations with them. He's so friendly, surely he will be able to give a great show of the interviews this year. Surely that's why President Wester had put him in the position straight out of his internship.

Lexus Romero, at the young age of 24, would have been stupid to deny such an honor. The Games have become bigger and better exponentially through these years since the cursed attempt at rebellion was extinguished.

Now Lexus would be immortalized in history books, just like the one that was sitting open on his lap. He reads the page about Enobaria Murray, the only Victor from the old times that is still alive. She really was vicious in her day, tearing other tributes' throats out with her teeth… The young man was sure to be careful around her this year when she comes to mentor. He flips the pages back to one of his favorites, covering the Victor of the 20th Games. The first and only second-generation Victor, his father won the very first Hunger Games, all the way back, almost 100 years ago.

He betrayed his ally to win, the girl from District 4. Lexus glances at the picture of the girl on the page. The first thing he notices is how… _Flat_ she is.

He scolds himself for being so shallow. It's hard to be anything but shallow in the Capitol, and it's all thanks to conditioning. Expanding your horizons is bad, education is something to scoff at, the only things that matter are vanity and greed. Buying love is more important than searching for it. Everything is artificial.

Don't feel, put on your happy mask, take some pills, buy a whore, enjoy your life. Everyone else is doing the same. There are few exceptions to this 100% happiness philosophy, and Lexus is one of them. Though, the way he's been conditioned to live in that mindset gives him thoughts such as that. He really wants to avoid their way of thinking.

For once, he's allowed his royal purple bangs to be shaggy and fall into his eyes. Nobody's watching, after all. He's considered simple by his collegues, considering royal purple hair and eyes to match are the only altercations he has besides a couple metallic tattoos. No piercings, no skin dyes, not even any altercations or plastic surgery, which is all the rage nowadays! Lexus has never seen the need for such things as those. Another thing that separates from the greedy people that surround him.

He reads some more about the 20th Games, thinking about such a betrayal of two teens that were… Friends. Or, so it seemed. Maybe they could've been friends, if they weren't where they were. Betrayal must hurt. The Capitol justifies it by reminding the crowds of "how the Capitol felt when we were betrayed by our Districts who we nurtured." Lexus can't forget that, especially now that he's in charge.

Looking through the history of Games past, Lexus is taken back to the old videos he's seen, and feels incredibly sentimental. The Games past were full of sacrifice and love, of tragic stories of tributes that were close and failed to be. They've become so artificial…

Lexus sighs looking at the pictures of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. How dramatic were the Games past?! So woeful, simply divine to revel in… That magic seems to have disappeared, and been replaced by a thirst for savage, vicious killers…

Lexus suddenly shuts the book. He knows what he has to do to make the 97th Games stand out. He has to bring back the humanity, create tributes that the Capitolites can root for reasons other than looks…

Maybe he can bring humanity back to the Capitol by bringing some of it back to the Hunger Games.

Instead of bold, savage, violent heroes, Lexus could show the Capitol: and the nation: a batch of troubled souls.

 _ **A/N: 24/24 still open! Review, go on our forum, or PM CelticGames4, The Tributes From Two, or InfiniteFinity to get details.**_

 _ **Submitters, review the story please to get more interest generated for the story! :)**_

 _ **~Celtic**_


	5. District 1 Reapings

**_A/N: Celtic here! I'm excited that this story is taking off, finally! Enjoy the reaping!_**

 _Cartier Candelaria, District 1 Male- CelticGames4_

I wake up this morning and don't recognize the bedroom I'm in. Well, I guess it's pretty normal for me to not recognize the bedroom that I wake up in. Today, though, it's not because I'm waking up next to anyone unfamiliar, for once. No, I soon recognize where I am, and today it fills me with joy.

I'm at the training center. Today I volunteer for the Games.

The Capitol's been throwing all kinds of excitement for this year's Games in all our faces, and honestly I've been reveling in it. The lights, the fame… It's a guilty pleasure of mine, but I dream of what it might possibly be like to have people all over the nation knowing who I am. And today's the day it all begins.

I get out of the small twin bed that's a guest room of the Training Center for all the young wannabes who want to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I remember the lock-in that's been a tradition since… Since the Games even before… _those_ times. The times that we don't talk or learn about in school, the times that if you want to know anything about you have to put in a lot of effort. I know basically nothing about those times. There really is no reason to learn about them.

The designated volunteers are allowed to be locked into the Training Center for one last night of the most critical training before the big day. The volunteers are allowed to invite whoever they want, but this year I didn't have anyone. I don't really like to allow people into my personal life, even though somehow I always get tipsy enough to think it's a good idea. I didn't crash until 1 in the morning, and have to be up around 7. The reaping starts at 8:30 sharp, and I need some extra time to get ready.

I get out of bed and go to the small little guest bathroom to pee and wash my face and brush my teeth. I flip the dirty blonde hair out of my eyes and look in the mirror. I'd be lying if I told you I really liked my body. In all honesty, I'm just not satisfied with it. I'm fairly muscular but it's not really noticeable.

I turn away from the mirror rigidly and go back to the bedroom, where my clothes are waiting for me. I put on khaki pants and a belt (because they're way too big for me) and layer up before putting on a nice dress shirt. The red bowtie really adds to the outfit, going in its correct place around my neck.

I comb my short hair away from my eyes as best as I can and then hold myself up nice and tall. Nobody would take me seriously if I wasn't confident. The more confident I become in myself, the more people will take me seriously. And the ones that won't are just shallow and dumb, anyways. Then, I go out to the training center, where a banquet is starting to celebrate the big reaping day.

I have a lot of friends, so as people start to arrive I'm bouncing between at least five different groups of people, receiving their congratulations. It's something that should be really exciting for me, but people keep on saying things that make me upset.

"Wow, Cartier, I never thought you'd make it!"

"I can't really fathom how you outdid all those other boys…"

That kind of thing. It sucks. What makes them think I'm anything less than any other damn boy that trained here. I worked harder than them. I put in more time and effort towards learning and increasing my chances of survival than they did. I worked hard for this and fully deserve it. I wish they would just suck that up and accept it.

Suddenly, the room kind of fizzles off into silence as the female volunteer comes down the steps, looking sharp and elegant in black combat pants and a white tank top. Her brown hair is up in her usual ponytail, though it looks a lot neater than last night.

Her name? Jewel Arro. Everyone knew she was going to volunteer from the very beginning, considering her dad is a Victor and her aunt Teach is a trainer. Her aunt Teach was very helpful and gave me a lot of good advice when she was in. I admire the family, really. If I didn't get to volunteer, I would've wanted to be a trainer. They were actually very close friends with my parents, back when Jewel and I were young. I have plenty of fond memories of us playing pretend. Her favorite thing to do was play Games, an activity that I enjoyed a lot. We made a whole rotation system for who can be the Victor. Sometimes it would be us hunting for food or tributes, sometimes against each other in the final battle, sometimes one of us would be the interviewer and the other a Victor… Good times.

After some pretty significant events in our lives, our families grew apart, and so did we. We went from practically siblings to hating each other to reconciling somewhat. Right now we're kinda at that point where we talk strategy together, though we're not really best friends.

Last night, we trained together for a bit before separating and doing our own thing. My favorite weapon is knives, and that's really where I've put all my focus. She spent a lot of time with the archery last night.

She accepts the congratulations given to her with a sincere smile and walks with her head held high and confidently. She greets her friends before we get food for breakfast before the reaping. We face each other that morning when we both reach for the same croissant.

"Good morning Cartier."

I try not to seem as awkward as I really am. "Mornin'."

"Are you ready? For today?"

I allow for a smirkish smile and put a croissant on my plate. "I've been ready for a very, _very_ long time."

"As have I." Her eloquence is very admirable. Jewel isn't all that bad of a person, really, so I'll definitely want to ally with her because she's knowledgeable and trained, and at least our District serves as one common thread.

However, as is with every year for as long as anyone can remember, there has been an alliance tagged as the "Careers." The nickname was given back during _those_ times as an insult, but winning the Games really is a career worth working for, so the name was widely adopted through the Districts. This alliance consists of tributes from One, Two, and Four (sometimes) that train for their time in the Games and volunteer. It's usually the strongest, most powerful, and most feared group in the Games, but also proves to be the most unstable.

I like to think I can be at least a little rational at times, and stability is pretty important to me. Last night, Jewel let me in on her strategy, a plan that will be absolutely unheard of by any means and will either be widely celebrated or social suicide. When she told me about it, I was pretty hesitant. I'm still pretty hesitant. I told her to do what she wanted (I won't tell anyone her secret plan, I respect her that much) and that I'd consider it once we met the other tributes. Some years have proven to be intense and bloodthirsty, others have proven to be dull with next to no volunteers. More and more alliances have been created, which adds drama and emotional value. It's bound to be an interesting year.

Jewel gets the rest of her food and goes to find her aunt before the reaping begins.

I eat and find my little brother Soul in the crowd of younger trainees. He hugs me and gushes that he can't wait until three years go by and he'll be in my spot. I ruffle his hair and tell him sincerely that I hope the very best for him. He introduces me to some of his friends, who look so surprised that the volunteer is saying hi to them. It may sound conceited that I enjoy every second, but I'm just a little bit conceited, and I'm okay with that. After all, I have good reason to be proud today.

I find my best friend Bliss in the crowd of kids and accept her hug. Sometimes people ask if we're dating, and the answer is and always has been no. We really are just friends. She's always been there for me, and really she treats me better than some of my family members. I really appreciate having her. She flips blonde hair over her shoulder, her make-up making her cheeks rosier than usual and her eyes radiant.

"Cartier!" She hugs me. I hug her back.

"Hey!"

"Are you excited!?"

"More than words can say." Seeing her gentle brown eyes smiling makes me smile.

"I'm sure you are." Her smile becomes slightly hollow, if only for a second. I know she worked really hard trying to beat out Jewel. I'm sure she'll find a good job anyways, though, because she really is smart and very hardworking.

We share some witty inside jokes and more fun conversation before the Head Trainers call us all for a toast.

"To Cartier Candelaria and Jewel Arro, who worked hard and with dedication through their years training with us. They have exhibited the skills necessary to survive and prosper in the Games, and today is the start of their quest to bring pride to their Districts and their families. We honor you today, our courageous volunteers, and wish you the best on your endeavors. To our volunteers!"

All of the trainees hold their glasses high in the air and repeat, "To our volunteers!" Then we all drink and everyone applauds. I can't help the radiant beam that spreads across my lips. Jewel is beaming brightly as well. After the applause dies out everyone starts on their way to the reaping.

I hurry home with Soul like we promised to talk to our parents and little sister before my big moment.

My Dad greets me with a hug and tells me I look really handsome. My Mom makes a face when he says this, and I ignore her when she starts off on some really rude comments about how I'm not what she wanted, "not at all," blah blah blah and all that shit. My little sister Joy is only 5 and has pretty much been brought up to hate me, so she clings to my Mom and waves at Soul.

"I have to go. See you after during the visits!" I take Soul's hand and together we rush off to the reaping. The reaping is a day of celebration, and today's my shining moment. I've been waiting for this day for a really long time. I'm volunteering to bring pride and money to my District and family, sure, but I'm also volunteering for myself. I have my reasons.

I get my blood taken and go to the 18's section for the reaping, continuing to hold my head up high as the ceremony begins. The crowd applauds and goes along with the escort Cloelia Vale. A woman of around fifty with more plastic surgery each time we see her, her heels make her taller than anyone in the District and she's very very thin. She speaks with energy but a strict tone.

"Welcome, District 1, to the first reaping of the 97th annual Hunger Games!" she says, and everyone applauds. She smiles and the video of the Games plays in the background. I know it so well, but I'm so nervous that it seems to take forever. Soon, Cloelia goes to the bowl full of girl's names and picks a slip of paper. He reads the girl's name, and luckily it's not Jewel's that gets picked. She volunteers confidently and takes the stage.

Finally, it's time for the moment of truth. Cloelia picks the male tribute's name and all I know about it is that the name doesn't belong to me. Before anyone can protest, I yell it loud and clear.

"I volunteer!"

Everyone looks towards the girl's section at first, looking confused. My voice is pretty high, it probably threw them off. I have no time to feel embarrassed about it, though, and go through the crowd of other boys as the rest of the crowd is silent. Nobody knows how to react to the girly-sounding boy that volunteered. I walk up on the stage and hear a whistle from the boy's side that I recognize to be Soul's. Then the District bursts out into applause. I smile as I shake Jewel's hand with a tight, confident grip.

The crowd claps and cheers, and I beam brightly at the fame rushing straight to my head. Then, we turn and go into the Justice building where we are ready to say our goodbyes.

.

I sit in the Justice Building and wait for the visits to start. First, a group of people I like to party with appears to tell me goodbye. A boy with sparkly green eyes and a sexy smile (that I've slept with once or twice) gives me a hug and a wink goodbye.

After that comes Bliss. She gives me a tight hug and a bright smile.

"Congratulations!" she says, "You looked spectacular!"

"Thanks!" I say, smiling. "I felt spectacular. Though I sounded-"

"Don't worry about it." She smiles at me and my worries all dissolve. I know that it's all going to be okay.

"You were very good. I'm sure you'll do excellent in the Games."

"Thanks Bliss. You always know what to say."

She smiles. "Any time." We hug again and she buries her face in my shoulder. "Come home soon, alright?"

I smile. "Of course. Anything for you. Thanks for being there for me all this time. Through everything."

"No problem." She smiles at me and I know that no matter what she does, she'll be successful. She's Bliss, she can do anything.

"Good luck. I'll miss you."

"I'll always be with you," I say with a teasing grin.

She smacks me lightly on the arm. "Stop being so fucking corny. I'll see you in a couple weeks."

I laugh a bit and give her a last quick hug. "See you in a couple weeks."

She leaves and my family is the last to visit.

"Congratulations!" Soul says, hugging me tightly. "You looked amazing!"

"You were wonderful," Dad says, patting my shoulder with a proud twinkle in his eyes. "My mature young man, ready to fight for his life in the Games." Hearing my father say those words makes my heart swell with happiness and pride and even tears come to my eyes. I can't believe I made it here. Trust me, this isn't how I imagined my future when I was little. But I couldn't be happier. No regrets.

My Mom stands off in the corner, looking disgusted. "I wanted you to volunteer for the Games, but never like… _This_." She pulls a face.

I roll my eyes at her. "I'm really fucking sick of dealing with your shit, alright? I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted but your dumb snide bitchy comments aren't going to fucking do a thing to change it!? You got what you wanted! Now just stop bitching at me about it!"

"Language!" she scolds. I give her the finger. My Dad gives me a strict look as Joy starts asking, "What's that mean?"

Soul seems to be trying to sink into the floor. He looks awkward and very uncomfortably out of place, which is honestly exactly how I felt when she first began bitching at me. Eventually I learned that it doesn't matter and if she's going to bitch about me then that's her own problem. It just doesn't affect me anymore because I just don't respect her anymore. I don't care what she thinks.

"Good luck, Cartier," Soul says, hugging me and feeling really tense and awkward at my Mom's displeasure. "Thanks Soul."

My Dad hugs me tightly, patting me on the back. "You've matured into the best young man you could be. You will be a good Victor. Be safe, be proud, don't let them get into your head. Understand?"

"Yes sir." He ruffles my hair and I laugh a bit. "Love you guys." I pat Soul on the head and give my Dad a last tight handshake before Peacekeepers escort them out of the room. My Mom and sister leave the room without as much as a goodbye, not like I care. Hopefully Soul keeps working on at least Joy for when I get home. It'll be a slow process but hopefully it will work.

So, I guess you've been wondering why some people treat me so poorly, right?

Have you figured it out? If you didn't, good. That means I passed and nobody noticed. If you're confused, well, so are most people who meet me, so you're not alone.

Let's just say I'm the first male volunteer from District 1 that still has periods every month.

* * *

 _Jewel Arro, District 1 Female- Wolfie McCoy_

The lock-in is way more fun when you are actually invited instead of forced to stay in your room while all the volunteers get to train and socialise all night. It is an all-night event that consists of socialising, training and drinking, although the last is done in secret by the less serious volunteers. A tradition that dates back to the first volunteers, it was nice to know that I could be a part of it. While most socialised, I and a few others decide to train.

I spend some time alone practising with my whip, then I train with some people I know at the shortswords, but my favourite part of the evening was shooting bullseyes with my bow and arrow. Breaking my speed record of four shots in a second, I'd say it is turning out to be a good evening.

I see a few of my fellow trainees at the lock-in. Ruby, Sapphire, Jasmine, and Cheer… Make that Cartier. It's the first time I've seen him in a while. He is the obvious male candidate for this year so I take a good long look at my not-so-close friend. He muscled up a bit. It's a pity him and I won't be team mates, but maybe it's for the best. With the plan I have I don't think I'd want to have as one him anyway. We used to love the games so much we'd pretend together. And when we were the right age we trained together but that's all in the past now. The only time we talk to each other is the few awkward times we are paired together in training like last night at swords, but that was in bitter silence. Thankfully swords ended quite quickly because I had gone to shoot arrows. When lights-out is put in place everybody goes to sleep, but I go to bed later than most to help clean up. By two a.m. I am out cold.

First light manages to creep up on me through the space between my curtains, damn curtains. But it is seven thirty anyway, time to get up. Groggily I put on my black combat boots with the pants to match; I then put on a simple white tank top and a ponytail that was just as simple. Looking in the mirror I saw a simple girl with simple clothes and a simple face, light brown hair and blue eyes looked at me and probably saw the same thing. Despite all this, I was anything but simple.

I go down for breakfast to see that almost everyone is already grabbing food, so I decide to join. Although I would have preferred to grab something and go, I decide to grab some food to sit and eat. I reach for a croissant which some idiot simultaneously tries to grab. Of course it just had to be Cartier. Murphy's Law, damn it. He congratulates me on my record (which means he was watching me) which I accept with the best smile I can put on. "Good morning Cartier," I say smoothly enough. "Mornin'," he mumbles in reply. "Are you ready?" I ask, it sounds a bit stiff so I add, "for today?" He tells me that he had been ready for a long time which is good because I tell him, "As have I."

I eat my breakfast while reminiscing over my old friendship when my aunt, and trainer, Teach launches the keys across the room to me and, in a sing song voice, tells everyone to get out. I love this woman, but I'm not dumb enough to stand there and simply love her when I got a command. I unlock the door and then proceed to be on my way.

A few of my fellow trainees greet me on the way, and all wish me luck. Obviously worried what I'd do if they didn't, but I appreciate it regardless. I give them the simple smile I always do and move on.

I sign in and smile when they prick me to get the blood sample; it is cute seeing all the others flinch. Obviously untrained or not trained hard enough. That was probably my least favourite part of training, pain tolerance. Getting hit and cut and occasionally shot with arrows, I trusted Teach but damn, it hurt like hell. So this prick? Nothing.

I get into line by the u/18 Females area. On my left, some merchant's child obviously waiting to leave, on my right: Sapphire. The look on her face when I growl at her is priceless; she can tell that the games are my right. Considering the fact that my dad is Midas Arro, winner of the 77th, and I was raised by the district's most competent trainer makes this year's games my reward. No. My birth right.

Sitting on stage are the mentors for this year. Sheen Harlow, youngest damn career to volunteer and live. He won his games at fifteen and is currently one year older than me. Really hope I don't get him… Then there is Iunia Sele, a victor that I admire and am practically related to due to her being friends with my dad. She won at sixteen using the fact that she was underestimated to her advantage and took everyone out one by one.

Our mayor gives the speech that I (read as "district one") could not care less about and then we watch the film about the "dark days". I could just kiss the person who started that rebellion, because without it I would be living without the games. And that would be no fun.

Mister Mayor Man then proceeds to call up Cloelia Vale. Personally I think she's a bit old for this job, at the ripe age of fifty, nobody would be interested in her… but she's brought home more victors than I wish to count including Dad, so she knows what she's doing. Still doesn't mean I have to like her.

"Time to announce our tributes for the 97th hunger games!" she cries out in a voice that reminds me of the 9 year old trainees when the get hit for the first time. "Tracy Irvi-" she begins when I throw my hand up in the air with the two words I've been internally repeating all day, "I VOLUNTEER!"

Without so much as a blink she calls me up to the stage where I gaily skip towards, although I could be floating, not too sure. Once at the front I grab the mike out of her hand and yell, "I am Jewel Arro, the winner of these games!" She takes the microphone back and then walks to the boys bowl, reaches in and reads the slip. "Nestor Granite," she says, this time showing surprise as nobody says—"I volunteer!" a somewhat high pitched voice in the males section squeals. Damn it, Cartier. Could you not have tried to at least sound deeper? He walks up to the stage wearing a smile as well as some good clothes. "I am Cartier Candelaria," he announces. I am annoyed at the fact that he out-dressed me so when we are told to shake hands I squeeze a bit tight to assert dominance.

At the waiting room the first person, unsurprisingly, is Aunt Teach. She may have been eccentric but when she walks in dressed like a Capitolite 6 year old that got to dress itself… well, I am a little more than surprised. "Like it?" my somewhat nutty aunt asks. "You look ridiculous" I reply attempting to contain my laughter. "And you look like a boy," she snapped, which was followed by a giggle. After a good laugh we had a little chat until the peacekeeper said it was time to go, she then hugged me tight and wished me luck, although she knew I didn't need it.

Outside the door I hear a peacekeeper say that I have another visitor, which surprises me, but I assume it is somebody trying to befriend the next victor. Obviously the emotion the courses through my veins when I see a previous victor is surprise. "Hi, dad…" I stammer while trying to stand straight and look presentable. He walks toward me and I don't know what to expect, but it sure as hell isn't a hug. "I can't believe that even though I was never there, you followed in my footsteps. I was hoping not to influence you to try and volunteer, those games are hellish. Fun maybe but it can hurt to see a friend die." He must be talking about his district partner. "Leaving you with your aunt Teach probably wasn't the best way to go about doing it. Listen, you don't know it but I've seen you train; you're good enough to do this. Teach has told me how much like me you are in training, so you've got this. What's your strategy?" He has given me a bit to wrap my head around but I decide to be blunt. "I'm not going to.—" I get to say before a peacekeeper walks in and tells us time is up. Midas… Dad hugs me again. His last words to me being, "Pick the house next to mine!"

The last batch is the one I didn't want, the wannabe friends. I act politely enough and they have to leave before it gets too bad. Everyone who has spoken to me believes in me. What's the point in letting them down?


	6. District 2 Reapings

_**A/N: Hey, it's Crystal! The support for this story so far has been phenomenal, thank you so much! Hopefully you'll all enjoy this chapter as much as the last one...**_

 _Lamia Delaney Abaddon, District 2 Female- dreams and desperation_

I reach out to grab my dress (it might be one of the warmer months but out here there is always a chilly breeze), however I feel a hand on my wrist. It's his way of reminding me that he payed for my time, and now I have to give him what he wants in return. It's hardly the nicest way to make a living, but what choice do I have? Anyway, it's already happened once this morning, so I can hardly back out now. Unless... Maybe I could distract him, waste away the time remaining with light conversation.

"It's reaping day," I say to him. He stares at me as though I am stupid, like I didn't need to state the obvious.

"I know."

"I still remember when I volunteered..."

Try as I might to avoid it happening, the edges of my mouth curl up and form a small smile. "This year, it is my turn."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to volunteer. I want to be in the Hunger Games. I'm capable, and you always make it seem so... so fantastic!"

Ryker grins. "Well, if you do, you won't be going alone."

"Well, obviously I'll have a disrtict partn-"

"No, it is my turn to mentor." _Great. Just what I need - guidance from the guy who buys my body._

I sigh. "But you're not going to be mentoring the girls - are you?"

He looks me in the eye when he says, "No."

"Well, who is then?"

"Enobaria." I smile as he says this. She's amazing. These games will mean that I will finally get to meet her. Well, if I volunteer fast enough, that is! He looks at the watch on his wrist. "I need to get going, it's past eight..." Past eight. The reaping is at 9am. That means that I should be off now too.

He pulls up his pants and runs his fingers through my hair. "I suppose I shall be seeing you later then."

I frown. "Yeah." He leaves and I have to dress myself before I go to the reaping. I don't have time to shower unfortunately, but I scrub my face and reapply my makeup. The square is not far from here so I should just about be there in time.

I walk quickly and I'm there before many others, most of them less eager than I am.

The woman pricks my finger and I gaze at the puddle of blood, red staining my skin. I lick it off. _There. That's better._ And it is. Dried up patches of blood like that can hardly seem attractive, particularly on a future victor!

I find the place I most want to be, near to the front. This is my year. My one and only chance. I'm nearly nineteen, next year is too late. No, if I want to change my life for the better then I must do this right here and right now. Well, when Aella Blush reaps a girl! This exact second and I would look stupid.

And I am not stupid. Stupidity won't win the Hunger Games. And I am going to win, I can feel it in my bones.

Aella's outfit is nice enough, but the skirt is a little too puffy and long for my taste. I look at my own dress. Yes, it certainly shows off how slim I am. Hopefully the sponsors in the Capitol will find me attractive, maybe they will try to sponsor me to keep me alive. After all, I'll probably the best equipped tribute to pay back the debt...

 _To pay back the debt._ I sigh. It's no secret that pretty victors can be sold to clients. But it'll last for less time in the Capitol, where I would at least still be respected for my murderous ability, than it would if I remained in poverty. If I don't volunteer, I'll be selling my body forever. When I'm old and wrinkly and- I shudder. That's one of the main reasons I am volunteering.

The other is for the thrill of ending lives. Slaughtering children is fun, just ask Ryker. He says it is exciting. And I want to feel the excitement myself. Blood has always tasted sweet to me, but the blood of a child who I have slain would likely be even sweeter.

I lick my lips. Boy, are these games going to be fun to play.

I think of the one lot of tesserae that I took out as our fabulous escort walks to the bowl. Maybe I will be reaped. I sure hope not, if that happens then someone will volunteer and I will never break free from the prison I have locked myself in. The cycle can't end unless I get help.

The name called is Aria Laison. Not me. I am ready. I am brave. I am strong. I can do this. I have to do this. "I volunteer!"

A girl not to far from me glares at me before turning away and crying. I suppose she expected that this year was her opportunity. But she was too slow.

I push my way through the crowd although I don't have to pass by too many other girls since I was so close already. As I do so, I wink and blow kisses. I may as well start with the reputation I am bound to get straight away. There is no point in trying to hide it - I am simply gorgeous. The wolf whistles of a group of boys in the seventeen section confirm it. They all want me but they just don't know how. Little do they realise it is simpler than they must think... just some cash in my hand and I will give them what they want.

When I reach the stage I glance at the mayor and he seems rather taken aback. I don't think he has ever bought me, but some nights I have been so intoxicated that I can never quite be sure who I have slept with. If anyone asks me for a number, I just tell them it is a lot. I spot Ryker at the back of the stage, smirking. _I did as you said to..._

I wink at him, I don't even question that he has bought me. Indeed, on several occasions he has. The most recent was this morning.

Aella grabs my attention suddenly. "Oh, a volunteer, how lovely! And your name, dear?"

I smile. This is my moment. I make sure to put on my most seductive voice (I use it so much it has nearly become my natural accent), and I tell her, "Lamia Delaney Abaddon." Someone in the audience coos, it's nice thinking I have a fanbase developing already. Let's just hope it extends to the wealthy gentlemen in the Capitol. I'll need their backing. So I wink at the cameras. They'll like that for sure.

My district partner is a volunteer too. He's quite wealthy-looking. He comes onstage and I wink at him. A little flirting never did anybody any harm... When he announces his name I know he is rich. Caligula Stockton. Mayor Stockton's nephew or something. Lucky sod. I would kill for wealth like that. It looks like I will be killing anyway. I can't wait.

I have to pinch myself. Yes, it's really happening. Wow. This is like... like a dream.

I am made to shake hands with Caligula and I do. I smile at him and he smiles back - a different kind of smile but a smile nonetheless.

* * *

We are led in to a room to say our goodbyes but nobody comes to me. I'm an orphan, and I hardly have a large group of friends - I don't even have one any more! I sigh, and I can hear it loud amongst the horrible silence surrounding me.

At least I will be more popular in the Capitol.

* * *

 _Caligula Stockton, District 2 Male- Bellicose Blue_

"Good morning, Caligula."

"Good morning, Uncle. Did you sleep well?" The polite words are an unconscious response, and I rise automatically to greet my uncle as he enters the room. Even at this hour, Mayor Stockton is dressed impeccably, each thinning hair in line and his eyes keen.

"Well, thank you," he answers as he sits at the head of the table, and I follow his lead. "You're certainly dressed nicely for the Reaping." And I am. I'm wearing professional clothes that manage not to cross the line into overly-formal, and I woke even earlier than usual to carefully style my hair.

I shrug almost languidly. "I need to make the right impression if I'm to be this year's Victor. Image is everything, as you've always taught me."

The mayor laughs rather dryly. "So you're still set on volunteering this year, are you?" He begins to cut the food a servant had just slipped before him like he's entertaining a response, but I know better than to cut him off. Instead I smile blandly at him and start carving off a sliver of melon. Predictably, he dabs at his mouth a few moments later and continues. "It would be… easier not to, would it not? Aetius mentioned he'd offered you a job, surely nothing terribly exciting, but you can easily parlay that into a position of power in ten years, fewer if you play your cards right."

I nod. "Of course, Uncle. You are correct as always."

Mayor Stockton sighs, and I know that my uncle's actions are so carefully scripted that such an excess display of emotion can only be intentional. "I see that alone will not persuade you," he muses, and there is a brief, horrifying moment when my mind buzzed with all kinds of threats my uncle could make, that I would make, had our situations been reversed. "I suppose every child is due his one act of rebellion. This, then, shall be that."

There is warning laced through his words, stitching them together like spider silk. Don't challenge my mayorship, boy, he might well have added. But I don't have any plans to assume the title of mayor- not so early, anyway. Plant a few scandals and twist a few views and I'd have more power than my short-sighted uncle had ever dreamed. If I could become somehow invaluable to the Capitol, I'd be immune to all of the petty political squabbles that plagued the upper echelons of society so I wouldn't be distracted as I accumulated even more control. But my desires could only be obtained by the kind of recognition I'd get as a Victor, and so I would volunteer for the Games.

"Thank you, Uncle. I will bring pride to our District," I vow. Oh, and I will. I'll bring Two up beyond One's trinkets and Three's gadgets until they stood nearly equal to the Capitol themselves, and the people would cheer me in the streets, would thank me for lifting them free of their squalor. I think I'd like to be powerful.

"See to it that you do." With that curt remark, the contretemps at breakfast is discarded in favor of the light small talk I'd become an expert in, and I can't help but be relieved. I'm safe.

* * *

I smile at the woman as she takes a sample of my blood. Censuses are useful, to be certain, but they have a way of making the boredom of Reaping Day seem to last for some, I amended. My own Reaping Day was my first real step towards power. But I'm not so tactless as to allow myself to be distracted by my wandering thoughts, not when I could be busy charming the useless residents of Two. I strike up a conversation with the whippet-thin woman as she entered in my information, and she waves cheerfully at me in farewell.

I find my place in the closest ring around the stage, where the other eighteen-year-olds huddle in grim packs or stand alone with their arms crossed, squinting at the stage. My uncle is already seated, his suit impeccable and his shoes polished to a sheen as he watches me unblinkingly. The clock strikes twelve, and my attention is yanked away from the mayor's cold gaze as a blur of color flutters across the stage.

Aella Blush, escort of Two for nearly as long as I've been alive, totters up to the microphone. This year the fashionable color appears to be a blinding lime green, and she wears it unceasingly- a tight top with the sleeves hacked off, a skirt that froths about her like a toxic sea, and violent slashes above her eyes that vanish into her hairline. Fortunately for the tributes of Two, she is just as committed to her duties as she is to fashion.

Aella chirps polite nonsense at the gathered crowds, their excitement almost palpable. It's a long-established tradition in Two that there will always be a volunteer to take the place of the Reaped tribute. The poor take out as many tesserae as they're allowed; even if they are chosen, they won't be going into the Games. Instead of fearing for the safety of their children, the crowds eagerly await the Games. It's a form of entertainment, plus the Victors bring still more wealth to the District. I can't imagine huddling in thinly-masked terror like so many of the other Districts, not when the solution is so obvious. Train two volunteers each year, gather the wealth, repeat. Sometimes I am amazed by the stupidity of others.

And then Aella calls up the first tribute, a young girl with dark hair and a scowl, like she is simply too important to inconvenience by having to scale the stage before the inevitable volunteering. I remember hearing that some of the other Career Districts don't have a set plan for volunteering; they simply allow a free-for-all of children rushing for the stage, elbowing others out of the way, hoping to be picked for their beauty or bravery or particularly underhanded tactics. Fools, all of them.

Two's system is simple and effective. The top trainees each year are tested against each other that entire year before they volunteer, working with all trainees of the opposite gender until the perfect combination is been chosen. In the end, I had been paired with a girl named Ash, a tall, vicious girl who is perfectly willing to let me lead so long as she is still able to kill the other tributes. We make for an effective, if typical, team. We will command the Career pack and weed out the competition before slaughtering our allies and turning on each other, and Two will have yet another victory. It's formulaic, boring.

What is not boring is the voice that calls out after Aella asks for volunteers, a low, sultry tone in comparison to Ash's cutting syllables. I turn to watch a girl pick her way out of the crowd, all long hair and flashy clothes. Definitely not Ash, then, who had certainly never owned such a tight-fitting dress and towering heels in her life. The screen behind the stage shows a close-up of her face: coy smile, dark eyes, olive skin. She winks and pouts at the cameras and even risks a flirtatious glance at the mayor.

"Oh, a volunteer, how lovely!" Aella claps her hands together. "And your name, dear?"

"Lamia Delaney Abaddon," the girl purrs. Oh, I know that name. I'd heard many of the older politicians joke within earshot about visiting the ladies of the evening, and she appeared to be very popular among them. She can't have had much training in weaponry, I muse, eyeing her slim frame.

"Good luck to you, Lamia. And now for the gentlemen!" Aella buzzes over to the next Reaping Ball and pulls out a slip of paper. I barely register the name as a thin, bored-looking boy climbs halfway up the stairs before choosing to lean on them instead. Clearly he doesn't think the formality is worth his effort. Aella looks a bit distressed but obligingly calls for volunteers.

"I volunteer as tribute," I drawl, shaking hands with the Reaped boy as I pass him on the stairs. I catch Ash's eye in the crowd, and she uncharacteristically breaks eye contact, dropping her gaze to the floor and turning her head.

"And your name?" Aella asks, positioning me next to Lamia, who blew me a kiss.

"Caligula Stockton, ma'am," I answer. The courtesy makes Aella flush and titter for a few moments before encouraging the two of us to shake hands. I smile politely at Lamia, but my eyes are fixed over her shoulder at my uncle's chilling gaze. Is that a flash of fear in his eyes? Just you wait, I think. I'll teach you to be afraid.

* * *

I sit obediently in the Justice Building, the ornate room filled with plush furniture and artwork bordering on gaudy. My classmates filter in the room in groups, wishing me luck or sharing an anecdote before they flee, too exuberant that they are not the ones going into the arena to stay for long. The sister of the boy I'd volunteered for enters and envelopes me in a hug before I can even rise to greet her. "I know I was just being stupid, thinking he'd have to go into the arena, but thank you," she whispers in my ear.

"You're welcome," I reply. "Really, it was no trouble at all. Even if I hadn't, someone else would have." She nods, slowly pulling away from me, and hovers awkwardly at my side for a moment while she dabs at her eyes.

"Thank you," she tells me again, and then she leaves.

The door opens partially, a head peeking in. I'd never known Ash to be so shy before, but I suppose she must be embarrassed that she let her spot slip through her grasp. "Come in, Ash," I call, concealing a smirk as she slips in and perches on the edge of a chair. "What happened?" For several long minutes, she doesn't answer, just stares at her practical boots, and I wait obligingly. Silence makes others uncomfortable, I know that from experience. They would do whatever they could to fill that gap, often releasing information as they did. I hate sloppiness, but I have to admit it's useful.

Finally Ash cracks. "I couldn't do it," she confesses, and I look up in very real shock. She flushes, the color spreading across her sallow skin. "I just… It wasn't real before, you know? All that training we did- sure, I knew we were going to have to kill others, kill kids, but I… I can't." She looks up from her shoes, and there were tears glittering on the edges of her eyes. "I'd go crazy, I know I would, or maybe I'd just freeze and you'd have to kill me. So when that other girl volunteered, I let her. I couldn't- I can't-" She stops, swallows. "This wasn't my year. I wasn't supposed to win. You can win, though. I'm sure of it."

I have to force down my disgust, pack away my revulsion tightly into a box as she stares so pitifully, so nakedly at me. Careers are supposed to be strong, not this sniveling, teary-eyed brand of weak. It was certainly better that she'd been replaced, after all. I can only imagine my fury if it had taken her until the arena to realize she wasn't cut out for it.

"Do you hate me, Cali?" Ash asks quietly, letting her gaze slide away from my face. "I won't hold it against you if you do. I hate myself right now, too."

"You shouldn't," I reply automatically. "I don't hate you, Ash." And it's true, I don't. Hatred is a strong emotion, far too weighty to waste on someone as insignificant as her. Contempt? That's another story. "I think you're very…brave." I almost choke on the word, less at the lie than at the way her eyes brighten in hope. Sometimes I wonderwhy I'd chosen to be charming rather than cold. Most of the time, it made interactions easier, but now I'm paying the price.

She wraps me in the second hug I'd received that day, and I stroke her hair comfortingly even though all I want to do is yank fistfuls of it out. "What do you know about Lamia, Ash?" I ask gently. If she can't help me in the arena, she might as well prove useful in other ways.

Ash sniffles a bit as she pulled away, taking a breath to compose herself back into that icy Career façade before she answers. "She's a whore," she says bluntly, and I laugh. "That's not even an insult; just the truth. Something happened with her family- I never cared to find out what- and she had to sell herself for money instead of just taking tesserae like everyone else."

"Not very smart, then," I note. "Could I use that?"

Ash shrugs, grinning coolly at me as we fall back into the camaraderie we'd developed over the months of training together. "I'm sure you'll find a way. She's likely touchy about her 'employment' as well. I'm sure it wouldn't help her standing in the pack if they were to discover that their attempted leader is a prostitute with no formal training."

"You think she'll go for leader?" I can't quite hide the sneer that curls my lip up.

She rolls her eyes. "She wouldn't have volunteered if she weren't either desperate or rather certain about her chances. Plus she has no idea about the kind of protocol regarding these things. She'll try, that's for sure. You just need to assert yourself."

"Will do. See you soon, Ash." Back to her haughty composure, she leans over to shake his hand before she leaves. That was exhausting, I think, scowling at the ugly paintings on the walls. I hope this hour is over soon.

But there is apparently still time for one more visitor, as the door swings open to reveal the mayor. He stalks into the room, leaving a Peacekeeper to shut the door behind him, and sits across from me, eyeing me narrowly. "Don't disappoint me," he finally warns, after my bland smile refused to crack. "I would hate for you to bring shame to our District. We're already embarrassed enough as it is, with that tramp volunteering in place of Ash." Mayor Stockton tilts his head slightly. "If you come back, we'll move ahead on marriage negotiations with her family. She's a clever girl, even with her slight failure to do anything with her life, and she likes you well enough."

"Yes, sir," I respond. What else could I say? That Ash has about as much interest in me as I do in her, which is to say none at all? My uncle is too pragmatic to care much about such fleeting things as "love", anyway. He'd never married because it had never been politically-expedient, not because he was still holding out. And I had taken instruction from my uncle since I was five. I'd been raised to be just as detached when it came to separating my work life from my personal life. It was only a happy accident that I felt no sentiments toward my personal life.

The mayor smiles at that. "You really are something, aren't you? You were right not to go for Aetius' entry-level job after all. You would've been bored senseless." That's the closest thing to praise he'd ever given me, and I struggle to maintain a blank expression.

We sit in almost companionable silence for a while until a Peacekeeper opens the door again, almost apologetic as he informs us it's the end of the hour. My uncle shakes hands with me brusquely and leaves, leaving me to rise a bit more sedately. The Peacekeeper escorts me out the back to the train station, where Lamia is already waiting. I greet her with a smile and wave at the cameras clustered around the train as the doors finally open and I am, for the first time in my life, free.


	7. District 3 Reapings

_**A/N: Uh, hi. I'm Megan, known on here as We're All Okay, but the people working on this story refer to me as Rue. Call me whatever you like. I'm so excited to be working on this collab, and I'm putting my heart and soul into my character and the story as a whole. I feel like I'm rambling, so let's jump in, shall we?**_

 ** _Trigger warning: abuse._**

 _Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood, District 3 Male- CrissKenobie-the-Neumenorean_

"Shut up! You never let me do what I want, you're always going out with your friends while I clean!"

"You want to know why? Because a man can only stay inside with his stupid wife and his faggot son for so long before he goes insane! And cleaning! You never clea-"

I roll over and stuff my head under my pillow with a groan. After so many years of fighting I've grown used to the noise of bottles breaking and people screaming. With a sigh I throw back my thin blanket and swing my feet off the edge of the bed. Placing both feet on the freezing floor of my room, I step out of bed and put on my glasses. I chuckle, it's a good thing I'll never be in the games because, without my glasses, I'd be dead within a hour. _Finding clean clothing for the reaping today will be challenge enough!_ I thought as I glance around my room.

My room looks more like a closet than anything but I manage keep it clean enough. I look around, running a scarred hand over my blond head.

The closest thing I have to nice clothes, meaning clothes that aren't too covered in grease stains, seemed to be a pair of brown cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. Glancing in the mirror I ruffle my longish hair into some sort of order and sneak downstairs to find breakfast. I make it to the kitchen of our decrepit house without being seen by either of my parents or stepping on any shards of glass. The only thing left in the food drawer is stale bread so I quickly scarf down a piece before bolting out the door. I put on my only pair of boots as I go.

Once on the street, I head for my friend Miguel's house. In my life, friends are hard to come by, but he has always stuck with me. I have been friends with Miguel since I was 12.

Wandering down the smoggy streets of District 3 I ponder the terrible situation that brought us together.

 _I was at work, having dropped out of school to feed my little sister, Lillian, and get her an education despite my parent's habits, and it was a fairly cold day. It was my birthday and Lillian had just given me a bracelet woven out of wire threads when I looked up to see Miguel. He was walking past on his way to school. It was just a quick glance and I didn't remember it until I met him again. My attention was diverted quickly, anyways, by my sister as she kissed me on the cheek. I remember grinning at her as she skipped out of the room. I remember screaming as the room she entered blew up. She was only six._

 _Much of what happened next was lost to me in a haze of grief._

 _I later learned that the boiler warming that room had overheated. To my shock I also learned that I had attempted to dig Lillian out of the burning wreckage. Guess it was a reflex. This reflex left me in the hospital with bandages around my face and hands for weeks. It was around this time I was told I would need glasses... For life. It was devastating._

I shut down after that. The happy-go-luck Sam everyone loved turned into a cruel, sarcastic, jerk. It was a mask to protect myself.

Months later, after I had recovered, I met some other boys in the new factory I had been transferred to. Being older than me and terrible bullies, the started picking on me for the scarring, still pink and tender, which covered my hands, arms, and my left temple. They were shoving me around, hitting and smacking, when Miguel stepped in and told 'em all to buzz off.

It was that moment that made me trust him, a wiry kid with darker skin and expressive eyes. He had stuck with me trough my depression at the loss of my sister, my abuse at the hands of my dad, and even my struggle with being bisexual. He was a friend I knew I didn't deserve.

"Earth to Sam, Earth to Sam! Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood? Are you in there?" I jerked back to the present, realizing that Miguel was waving his hand in front of my face. "Hey mate! Good to see you returned from lala land,! Drop the "grump face!" Also, you know there's no need to wear that mask around me!"

Then he grins and slung his arm around my shoulder. I give him a half-hearted smile. "hey Mig... It's good see your ugly mug."

Miguel stood head and shoulders over me, with his buzzed black hair and his lanky frame, making him the perfect stereotype of the district 3 male. He was grinning like the goofus he was.

Behind us Miguel's parents and sisters waved goodbye. His sisters, thankfully, were too young to go to the reaping and for Miguel, being 18, it was his last year. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that without him, my life would have been and would be hell.

"Ugly? Ugly!" He scoffed before realizing that I wasn't paying attention.

"Hey man, look at me." Miguel had stopped in the middle of the road and was watching me. "It's my last year, the chances of me being chosen are slim! Quit worrying!" Sometimes I think he can read my mind.

"Miguel, you know me, all I do is worry. But you are right, it is your last year... Guess I'm just nervous."

"Yah, I know, I get nervous every year... But after this year I'll only have to be nervous for you!" He tried to grin again, but it failed.

I tactfully forgot about his little sisters.

Rounding the corner we come up to the masses of children, all gathered for the reaping. The colors of the outfits, though most plain and dingy, conflicted, making the scene even more chaotic. Wading through the crowd, and following Miguel who towers over everyone else, I manage to bump into very few people as we make our way to the line.

Without watching were I place my two left feet, I ram into a little girl. She couldn't be more than 13, and I feel terrible as I knock her over. Thankfully, I catch her before she hits the ground. Her velvet dress twirls as I set her back on her feet.

"Sorry!" I apologize, forgetting my cruel "mask" in the face of instinct, but all she does was swat off my hand. She glances at me before mumbling something unintelligible and walking away. My eyebrows shoot up, but I don't push my luck, and turn back to Miguel.

Within moments we are registered, pricked, and filed into our respective ages. I wait with the others for our escort, Remus Grande. He has been district 3's escort for as long as I can remember and to the best of my knowledge, he had a different hairstyle every year.

There was no need to wait for the victors, we have none, so Remus starts his speech immediately.

"Hello, citizens! Welcome to the Reaping for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Before we start, I have a little presentation to show you! Please turn your eyes to the screen!"" He says in his chipper voice.

The, as Miguel had nicknamed it, "siesta video" begins to play, rambling on and on about rebellions, previous tributes, and the origins of the hunger games.

I had the thing memorized but watched it anyways, mouthing the words.

It comes to an end far too quickly for my nervous state and our attention is directed toward the stage again.

"Well then, wasn't that fun?" A pause in which no one answered followed, I almost laugh. "Alright, let's get this party started! Ladies first!" He grins and plunges his hand into the first bowl, searching around for the "perfect" piece of paper.

Drawing it out he opens it with a flourish and smiles. "Our lucky lady is Athena Spektor!" A deep sadness washes over me as I watch the little girl from earlier climb the steps. In the background two people, who I assume are her parents, stand weeping.

"And now for the gentlemen!" beams Remus, oblivious to the pain around him. I fiddle nervously with my glasses, hoping with all my might that everything will turn out fine. He fishes out a slip of paper and holding it up cries "Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood!"

My brain freezes in that moment and it takes the parting of the crowd for me to come back to myself, and I quickly mask my shock. With calculated steps I make my way to the stage. At the top I take my place at Remus's side and spare brief look at my fellow tribute. She looks about to cry.

It is a random gesture, instinctual, but I flash her a smile, trying to convey with my eyes that everything will be okay, then I turn back to the crowd.

"District Three... Your tributes for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Athena Spektor and... um... Samuel Allen Something Northwood! Shake hands, you two." I turn to Athena, again, and shake her hand. All an act, always an act. She smiles shyly back as we are escorted off stage.

* * *

Miguel is already waiting for me in the justice building and he fingers my wire bracelet, talking nonsense about how it'll all be okay. We both know it won't. To soon Miguel is escorted from the room.

I pace the floor, hoping that my parents don't arrive, but it is not to be so. The door bursts open as my obviously drunk father bursts in. The only thing I have time to do as his his fist collides with my face is wonder where my mom is; probably high. I lay on the floor, curled up, unmoving as he screams things like " how could you?" "Worthless Fairy!" and peacekeepers escort him fro the building and shut the door.

No one asks if I'm alright, and I don't ask for help. The Sam everyone despises is tough.

Soon enough I am escorted to the train, head down to hide my newest bruise. I watch as my partner grins and boards train after me, tears unshed in her eyes.

My... What a pair we make.

* * *

 _Athena Spektor, District 3 Female- We're All Okay_

I'm growing tired of watching the world go by. Sure, it can be interesting enough, but seeing the same old people do the same old things gets hopelessly boring after a short period of time.

No, the past three years have not been fun at all.

I often want to bang my head against the wall. Being constantly locked up in my bedroom gets really old really fast. I want to go outside. Sure, the smoggy air of District Three isn't ideal, but it's a hell of a lot better than my dull life.

The higher amount of pedestrians than usual tip me off; it's Reaping Day, the bane of any teenager's existence. The day in which one child of each gender is selected to go die.

Well, it isn't completely certain that they die, but considering the Careers, and the fact that Three tends to produce mostly weak tributes, it's all but set in stone.

I figure that I should get into my Reaping outfit, so I grab the first dress I can find—a velvety purple thing with a silver sash around the waist—and carefully put it on, trying not to crease it. I slide my feet into a pair of worn black flats, the nicest shoes I own. Even for someone as wealthy as me, fancy shoes are hard to come by if you're from anywhere but the Capitol or one of the Career Districts.

I take in my reflection in the mirror attached to my door. Dark brown hair frames my face, standing out against my pale skin. Cerulean eyes gaze back at me as I stare at myself, not quite sure who I'm looking at.

For the first time in a while, I feel pretty.

I leave my room, quietly closing the door behind me so I don't disturb my parents. They still don't like me leaving my room, even when it's an important day like the Reaping. As much as I hate being locked away like a prisoner, I don't want to disobey them. After all, they have their reasons, and they make sense... sort of.

My mother is already downstairs. She's a tall, thin woman with the same brown hair that I have. Upon seeing me, she purses her lips in discontent, but when she realizes I'm watching her, she beams. Her smile couldn't look more fake.

"Hello, Athena!" she chirps, feeding fake enthusiasm into her voice. "How did you sleep?"

"Well enough, I suppose," I respond, frowning. I did not, in fact, sleep well. I was woken by nightmares... again.

As I'm thinking about it, his face flashes through my memory, along with his cheerful voice. "I'll come home soon."

I push the memory away, to the back of my mind. I don't want to think of my brother right now.

"Athena, who hurt you? Does your father need to intervene? Sit down and tell mommy exactly what happened, dear."

Whenever she says stuff like that, I want to tell her that I am not some five-year-old who can't handle herself. It's not fair that ever since he died, I've been stuck living like a criminal in jail.

I smile and shake my head. "Mom, I'm fine. Promise."

The fake smile returns to her face. "Good," she chirps, "Very good."

Humming to myself, I grab a piece of fruit from the table and glance at the clock. There's still an hour to go until we have to leave for the Reaping. I wish I could go visit my friend Harriet and kill some time, but I know she won't allow me to leave the house.

Honestly, it's pure luck that I was allowed to leave my room.

I spend the next hour wandering the house, which is more like a mansion, if you ask me. I've lived in it for thirteen years and I still haven't seen all of it.

I don't get very far, because I'm stopped by my father. He's always towered above me, and he's pretty intimidating when he wants to be. His brown hair is neatly cropped as always, and his blue eyes glare down at me. "What are you doing out of your room?" His voice is soft, but it has a harsh edge that sends chills up my spine.

"O-Oh..." My voice shakes thanks to my nerves. "It's Reaping day, s-so I thought I could leave my room... I-I'm sorry..."

His frigid expression softens into something warmer; worry. "You know why we don't like you leaving your room, Athena."

I nod, about to respond, when the sound of the Reaping Bell cuts me off. Together, my family and I head into the square.

"Okay," my mother says, using the tone she's used since I was around five. "Go stand in line, and go into your section. We'll see you after the Reaping is done, alright?"

I smile and nod as I leave them behind for the first time in months. The smoggy air is surprisingly refreshing, and I take a deep breath, vowing to enjoy my few hours of freedom.

As I stand in line, the weight of my situation starts to sink in. So many people around me, all of them talking and laughing with each other as if they might not die. I can see through it, though; it's a mask. A facade to hide their terror, and it's working rather well.

I, on the other hand, have nothing to hide. My smile vanishes as I wait in the line, my thoughts beginning to wander. Large crowds have never suited me; I don't like talking very much. My lack of social experience makes me quite bad at it.

Someone crashes into me as I'm caught up in my train of thought. I stumble forward, my knees almost hitting the ground before he catches me. I glance up at the stranger, my face a bright shade of red.

"Sorry!" he says, pulling me to my feet. I take him in within a matter of seconds. His hair is a dark shade of blonde, falling in front of nearly black eyes that are hidden behind odd-looking glasses. A scar crosses his temple, making me wonder if something happened to this boy.

I'll probably never see him again, though, so I pull his hands off my shoulders. "It's alright, thank you," I mutter under my breath before realizing that I've lost my place in line. Dusting myself off, I return to my spot, not looking back at him.

The process of waiting in line is slow and mundane. Once I finally reach the front, the Peacekeeper stares at me with the most blank expression I've ever seen.

"Name?" he asks, grabbing my hand and holding up a sharp-looking syringe.

"Athena Spektor," I say softly as he draws my blood. The needle stings, so I shake my hand as I walk away after the Peacekeeper finishes.

I find Harriet waiting for me in the 13-year-old section, smiling and grinning. "Heeeey! Haven't seen you in a while!"

I grin. "Not my fault."

"I know that, dummy. Made it just in time; it's about to start."

District Three's escort is a man by the name of Remus Grande. His hairstyle changes each year, and this year, it's an extremely bright shade of neon green, and it's gelled to stick up on top of his head in a sharp point. "Hello, citizens!" he cheers in his Capitol-affected accent. "Welcome to the Reaping for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Before we start, I have a little presentation to show you! Please turn your eyes to the screen!"

I don't want to look. I know what I'll see. Gory images of past Games, ones that have a tendency to sicken me to my stomach. I know that I'll be punished if I don't look, though, so I stare up at the screen, already feeling nauseous.

There he is. Apollo Spektor, Tribute in the 94th Annual Hunger Games. His hands shake as he stabs the back of another Tribute, draining the life from them. I can't watch anymore, I just can't. Seeing him again is too painful, especially that particular moment; the day my brother became a murderer. As much as I miss him, I knew that I'd lost him the minute he walked away from the body.

Before I know it, it's all over, and Remus is pulling a name from the girls' bowl. I cross my fingers tightly, praying to every deity I know of that I'll be okay.

"Athena Spektor!"

I can feel the blood draining from my face as my legs move on their own. I don't command them to move into the aisle and up onto the stage, but suddenly I'm there, fighting back tears.

 _I will not cry_ , I tell myself. _I will not cry_.

Remus ignores me and moves on to the boys' bowl, pulling a slip from the very bottom. "Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood!"

The crowd parts to reveal the boy from earlier. For a split second, a look of shock crosses his face, immediately masked with a cool facade. He reaches the stage, looks at me, and shoots me a small smile, as if to say that it'll be okay.

The smile vanishes before I can smile back.

Remus beams at him, then at me. "Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Athena Spektor and... um... Samuel Allen Something Northwood! Shake hands, you two."

He smirks at me as he holds out his hand. The expression seems so out of character for the glimpses of a kind boy I just saw. What's he planning?

I shake his hand, surprised at how rough his palm feels. The scars are long and angry, stretching across his hand and up parts of his arm. I smile shyly at him before letting go, and we're led into the Justice Building.

* * *

It doesn't take long after I sit down on the couches for my parents to come bursting through the doors, which hit the walls with a loud bang. My mother looks like she's having trouble breathing, and my father just looks crushed.

I let them wrap their arms around me and steal all the air from my lungs. My tears begin to fall, streaming down my face. I sob, holding them close and not wanting to let go.

As suffocating as they are, they're my parents. I don't want to leave them alone.

We sit there for a few minutes, just holding each other, not needing to say anything. "Try to come home, okay?" my father mumbles as he pulls away, prying my mother off of me, as well.

I nod, not wanting to speak. If I do, I surely won't be able to finish my sentence.

They leave. As they close the door behind them, I call, "I love you!" It's an act of desperation, but I didn't know what else to say. I don't use those words nearly enough in their presence.

I take a deep, shaky breath and brush my dress off. When I step outside, I'm going to grin and bear whatever the world throws at me. Even if I don't make it out—which, honestly, I don't know if I will—I'm going to keep a smile on my face no matter how many tears I shed.

It's the only way.


	8. District 4 Reapings

_Maritime Meridian, District 4 Female- Lady Lysa Arryn_

The combination of squawking seagulls and the noise of the waves wakes me up. I am not as privileged as many in Four, but I do have an eye for gold and silver. I begrudgingly detach myself from my bed and make my way down the stairs. It's the morning of the reaping and I traditionally cook the breakfast for the boys.

This morning is a little different, however, because I'm actually contemplating volunteering this year and I hate myself for it. I'm just want money and since my friends are essentially rich, I just want to be like them. The quickest way to that is to volunteer.

I reach the kitchen to find nobody is waiting for me.

"Oh well, better start cooking the last of the porridge".

I put the slightly gone off porridge into a pot and heat it up, adding the water. The steam rising from the pot upsets my make-up which I did last night. Oh great, now I have redo it. My year's make-up supply has almost run out, so I hope I have enough to fix up the horror that is my face. All the girls are going natural, they say, as it apparently the latest trend in the Capitol, but I find that hard to believe. Anyway, my natural face doesn't look as good as everyone else's.

"Morning my little Mari," Granddad says as he enters the room.

He only calls me Mari because I apparently remind him of my Nana Tori, whose full name was Torrent.

"Morning Granddad, did you sleep okay?" I chirped from the stove.

Granddad hasn't had a good night's sleep since Nana died, so he has to take sleeping tablets, but even then they don't work very well.

"I slept alright, I suppose. Don't worry about me, this is your last year." He says smiling.

I sigh with relief at that last part so if I don't volunteer or get reaped, I'll be fine.

The porridge has finally finished cooking and I hand Granddad a bowl. He accepts it and nods at me. I nod back.

"Are you going to volunteer this year?" He asks while shovelling porridge into his mouth.

"I would like the money Granddad, but I'm not as skilled as the others," I whisper to him.

I feel sort of bad as Granddad paid for my training and I came bottom in all my classes apart from First Aid and Axe Throwing.

"Maritime, you're as strong as, maybe even stronger than them and you are the most beautiful person I know. If anyone can win those games, you can."

That was one hell of a motivational speech as I have some confidence now but I still don't know if the reward is worth the risk. I probably have the best education out of anyone in Four as I spent more time doing homework than I did training.

"Go on, up and get changed," Granddad says. "I'll feed your brothers, and don't forget you can do anything you want to do".

I leave the kitchen and my faithful Granddad. He is the most supportive person; I know but he is a fool to put faith in me.

On my way up the stairs I run into Brine. He and I are the only two eligible for the reaping.

"Hurry up and get breakfast," I say, to which he rolls his eyes but goes anyway.

Then, I suddenly remember I forgot to have breakfast. Oh well, I could go without eating anyway. I'll probably last to the reaping and after because people go without food for a while.

I reach the plain, boring, white door of the box room or my room. Inside the walls are a drab grey, my favourite colour and the only furniture in it is a wardrobe and a single bed.

Then I open up the old creaky wardrobe and pull out a knee length white cotton dress along with some with flats and two bits of pink silk ribbon: one large, one small. I proceed quickly to the bathroom carrying all my clothes.

I get to the bathroom only to be overcome with the smell of deodorant. Brine must've sprayed a lot because there is a lack of oxygen in here. We have an old power shower which hasn't been upgraded for about ten years at this stage but thanks to me it's still as clean as when it was first bought. I shower quickly removing all my hard work from last night. It's a shame to see all that make-up go to waste.

Soon after I get out of the shower and dry myself off and blow dry my ginger hair. I wipe the crooked old mirror and apply a new layer of foundation. After I've done that I move onto my eyes then my lips and by the time that done I find I only have fifteen minutes until my friend Riviera gets here. That worries me as I haven't even got my dress on. I quickly slip it on and then tie the larger pink ribbon around my waist. I get the smaller ribbon and tie up my hair with it leaving a nice high ponytail with a bow.

I run down the stairs rushing for the door, only to see Brine waiting for me looking sharp in a navy blazer, white V-neck and black skinny jeans. His hair is combed over.

"Look at you handsome," I smile.

Brine doesn't seem to think he is handsome as he says, "The jeans are so ugly and impractical. What sort of guy needs these when he'll be working on a boat?"

Not a moment later do we hear a soft knock on the door that can only be Riviera. I open the door the reveal a tall girl with blonde hair dressed in a green floral frock with capped sleeves.

"Hey Riviera," I chirp.

"Hey Maritime," She murmurs.

I shout goodbye and drag Brine out the door with me. We walk in an awkward silence for about twenty minutes but I don't mind as during that time we walked past the elegant yet slightly creepy graveyard and the large anchor the sits in a flower bed as a memorial to all those who lost their lives at sea.

"So are you planning on volunteering Riviera?" asks Brine inquisitively.

Riviera shakes her head and responds, "I'm not good enough for the games."

Brine smiles at her, "I'm sure you are."

Brine is just so kind sometimes, I hardly think we're related. I judge everyone and yet he is just so kind to everyone no matter who they are or their background.

We soon stumble across the magnificent floating square of Four. It is essentially a large pontoon directly opposite the justice building but I think it is beautiful. There is a large fountain that is just behind the main stage of the pontoon and it is constantly spraying water everywhere. I can definitely understand why people say Four is the most picturesque District.

To get to the pontoon, however, we have to go through security. When I finally reach the top of the queue. The obnoxious peacekeeper calls "next!" I shuffle forward and put my hand out. The slight prick is enough for me to bite my lip. I wait for Riviera so we can walk to the eighteen year old section.

I end up being squashed between a huge manly looking girl with a pig nose and Riviera. I'm smaller than both of them so I don't look extremely intimidating. While looking around to see who is here, a thought pops into my head. _I should volunteer._ I quickly shun that idea, thinking that my life is more important than money.

The sections start to fill up with many frightened faces and even more rowdy teens ready to sacrifice their lives for a chance at glory and fame, and the thought volunteering again pops into my head. If I win, I can get all the gold I want and I can financially help my Dad after my mother bled him dry.

"Screw it," I say, a bit too loud as I get look as if I'm deranged from Riviera.

"I'm going to volunteer, my dad needs money and I want gold so if I win I can have both."

"Maritime, you can't just throw away your life like that!" Riviera snaps.

I just shake my head and smile to myself, I finally made a decision without the help of my dad. I'm proud of me.

I am cut off in my celebrations by the horribly loud voice of Four's escort, Orestes Opal. He is so old, I feel as if he is a dinosaur despite only being in his fifties. He has blue hair and is dressed in a grotesque turquoise suit. Good grief, people from the Capital have no sense of style.

"Welcome, future tributes!" he says. His voice booming around the place.

The reaping drones on and on until we get to the part where people's names are picked out of a bowl.

"Ladies first," He says.

He toddles over the girls bowl and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Oceania Markos!" He calls.

A tiny fifteen year old walks towards the stage with her head held high.

"Any volunteers?" he asks against Oceania's will.

I raise my hand and say the worst words in the world. "I volunteer!"

"Well, come on up and introduce yourself" Orestes says.

The walk up is fine, only for Oceania's glaring: I wouldn't mind it, but her glare is rather unsettling.

"What's your name dear?" He asks.

"I'm Maritime Meridian." I smile.

"Well Miss Meridian, shall we see who your partner is?"

I cross my finger and hope that he is weak so I'll have better odds. Orestes pulls out a name and is about to call it when a boy shouts "I volunteer!"

He says his name is Tully and he is a monster compared to me. He must have at least six or seven inches on me and his arms are twice many three times the size of mine. I am really starting to regret volunteering. We shake hands before we are lead to the Justice building.

* * *

Being locked in the room gives me time to reflect on the stupid decision I made. I'm going to die and I already know it. There is no way I can win, not after seeing Tully. My thoughts are cut off by my brothers Storm and Brine rushing in along with Riviera.

I shout at them saying "I made a stupid mistake!" but all they do is hug me and tell me that I can win, which I can't.

Next in to my surprise is not only my Dad but my mother as well.

"Your Father made me come say goodbye," she hissed.

I look at her furiously. "Goodbye Mother," I say harshly.

With that she gets up and leaves.

Dad just embraces me in a hug not speaking what so ever until the end.

"Be safe Maritime" He says before being dragged out the door.

Finally Granddad limps in.

"Do you have a token?" he asks

I nod and point to the pink ribbon on my head.

"Win for me, won't you?"

He kisses my forehead and leaves.

Since he departed I'm alone again and for the first time I'm truly aware of what I let myself in for. There is no guarantee that I'll come out alive and once I'm in there nobody can help me. I won't be as beautiful as some of the girls or as strong as the other careers so I don't have anything that can help me win these games. I'm basically a sitting duck waiting to be swallowed by a shark. Only time will tell if I win or if I lose. My hand goes to my ribbon in my hair, if I die I want to still have this ribbon with me. A tear comes to my eye and before long I'm bawling.

I'm not a true career.

* * *

 _Tullius "Tully" Pike, District 4 Male- Nrrd-Grrl-Meg_

 _"I don't want to die without any scars." - Chuck Palahniuk_

She smells of honeysuckle and an ocean breeze and it takes everything in me to pay attention to what she is proposing. Her ruby lips are moving, but no sound reaches my ears; instead, I just imagine them pressed against my own. She is everything I have in life and everything I desire and right now, yet she has me pinned at the precipice, my toes dangling on the edge of the cliff.

Literally. She is standing just inches behind me as I look down at the raging water below and her very kissable lips are daring me to plunge into the drink below. There is little she doesn't know about me and right now, she is pushing every button, molding me like putty in her hands. She runs her fingers down my spine, giggling as I shutter in the breeze that creeps up the side of the cliff.

She is going to kill me one of these times, I know it.

"You've done worse than this before," Thalassa Johnston reminds me, her voice like a melody that swirls around me. "Don't be a chicken shit."

She's right, but Thalassa is always right. Last year, after we escaped The Reaping, we found ourselves drinking a bottle of Marlin Johnston's finest wine and hanging off the side of her family's seafood factory. With half a bottle gone just from myself alone, I ended up hanging upside down from the fire escape, singing the Panem Anthem at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, I was able to talk my way out of a flogging at the hands of some overzealous Peacekeepers, but it was a close call nevertheless.

Behind her, the missing piece of our little triangle of friendship begins to bawk at me, his voice loud and piercing and overall annoying. Even without the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I would have jumped to get away from the sound of Trent Yarrow's voice.

Before my better judgment could advise me against it, my body flew forward and the waves crashing against the side of the cliff grew closer and closer. For all I know, I could be diving into a foot of water water and death is moments away, but I do not care. If death was going to take me, it would have done so by now. Death has snipped at my heels before, getting so close I could taste it on my tongue and yet, here I am.

I am going to decide when death can have me, not the other way around.

My last jump ended with the scar that remains across my left knee and nearly crippled me. For nearly half a year I was laid up in bed, waiting for the swelling to die down enough for me to even think of putting my weight on it. A single miscalculation at the age of twelve and I was sidelined for six months and live with a scar to remind me that I'm not as invincible as I make myself out to be. As though the jagged scar across my chest wasn't enough.

Twin sets of balled-up fists hit the blue first, followed by the rest of my body and for a brief moment, I am unsure of my fate. Air escapes my lungs at a fast rate and my eyes are stuck closed. My toes tickle the sand and rocks that sit lazily on the ocean bottom, while my head puts together the verdict.

Alive. Very much alive.

I rise up and reward myself with oxygen. Far above me, I hear their cheers and I am drunk off their praise. My fathers says I'm an addict and attention and glory is my drug, and maybe he's right. But this is my life, not his, and I'm going to live it as I see fit.

Thalassa joined me within moments, followed behind by Trent, who thought it wise to cannonball into the water, instead of dive like the rest of us did. Splashing and name calling ensued, our laughter carrying out to sea as we acted as though we hadn't a care in the world. The sun grew more intense as time went on, quickly changing places in the sky as we allowed our guards down enough to have a little fun. Any other day, we wouldn't have paid any attention to the world around us, outside of our growling stomachs, but today isn't any other day.

Thanks to District Four's status as a Career district, it is assumed that we never have to worry about being Reaped and unfortunately, that couldn't be further from the truth. Two years ago, when District Four last saw a victor, Maria Schmidt, an eighteen year old daughter of canning factory workers, was Reaped along side a shoe-in for victor, the mayor's own son, Fjord Bayou, no one stepped in to take her place and she was sent into the games. Armed with a trident, she made light work of the Bloodbath and stood her ground against all others, even the popular vote to win, Fjord. To this day, the mayor refuses to even look at Maria, knowing that she is the reason his son never came home again. So, while it is not often that one is reaped from Four, it does happen and sometimes, they get lucky.

And luck is something I am said to have in spades.

The white sand near the district's main harbor is where we find our clothes and blanket, giving up the water for the morning. Trent tosses his white shirt over his wet torso, which just ends up as a see-through mess, and plops down in the sand, sending it flying around him like dust in the air. Thalassa, on the other hand, doesn't bother putting back on her clothes; instead, she allows the sun to dry the drops of water that cascade down her lithe frame while stretching out on the sole blanket we brought with us. Myself? I find a spot on the rocks to our left, also letting the sun dry me off before I end up looking like drowned cat.

"What if one of us is Reaped?" Trent breaks the ice with the subtle and grace he is not known for. "Do you think someone would take our place?"

"The Training Center usually has tributes in mind, Marlin says, but it doesn't always pan out," Thalassa informs him, while ringing out her hair. "The girl that was supposed to go in for Maria backed out when she saw that the girl was some-what trained."

There is a hint of bitterness in her voice and one can easily understand it. She, herself, has been training under her brother since the year he came back from the games, so she could easily find herself in the same position as Maria at any moment. On top of that, the Capitol is always on the lookout for another pair of sibling victors...

"I'm going to volunteer this year." Trent's remark is met with a fit of laughter from the rest of us and his face turns crimson. "What? I'd make a damn good tribute."

I can barely make my joke come out clearly as my chest heaves with excitement. "Yo-you...you'd trip...at the st-start...and explode!"

Thalassa beings slapping her leg and roars like a hyena, while Trent grows even more bitter. "BOOM!" she manages to get out, before collapsing into the blanket.

Taking our laughter and jokes as a lack of faith, he stormed off down the harbor, which lead to the main road in town. While he is usually the one cracking jokes at our expense, he can be unusually sensitive at times, which we forgot to take into consideration. All at once, I feel the guilt of belittling my best friend in his time of need and guidance.

"Do you think he was serious?" she asked, her eyes swimming in the same guilt I was feeling. "I mean, he isn't known for bring a violent guy."

"Neither was your brother."

"Dually noted."

I can't help but let out a sigh. "He's right, though. Guys like us might make good tributes."

She raises her eyebrows and looks at me. "Really now?" When my expression doesn't change, she says it again. "Really?"

I simply nod and she goes on the attack. "Are you dense? You think it's a damn game?"

"To be fair, it's in the title..."

"This is serious!" She's on her feet now, pacing back and forth, kicking sand up as she goes. "Tully, you haven't seen the other side of the games, how the victors are when they come home. My parents couldn't handle Marlin's outbursts and drinking, despite all their promises to be there for him when he got home. I've been doing it since I was ten years old...I gave up my childhood to help him forget the faces of the tributes he took out with his bow and arrow. He sees his district partner almost every night in his dreams. He's only been sober for the past year, but that's because he's grown attached to Maria after bringing her home. You...you're selfish."

Her words hurt. Anyone else and I can brush it off, but not Thalassa Johnston. Her lips, almost ruby in color against her tan skin, quiver and the only thing I can think of to do is press my own against hers to stop them from breaking my heart. Funnily enough, she allows me to do so.

"I'm not selfish, Thal," I inform her, once we catch our breath. "I want to prove that I am worth something, that while I'm never going to be Hurley, I'm still a Pike. I'm still his son and I'm pretty damn awesome."

Now it's her turn to sigh. She knows what I'm going through because her parents feel the same way about her. They paid a lot of money for her brother to train and while they are happy enough to live off of the fact that their son is a victor, they won't help clean up the mess they created. Marlin was once the smartest guy in the room, brilliant and calculating. He was the leader of his Career pack, all five others answering to him and him alone. Every plan, every move went through him first and for the first time in years, all members of the Career pack made it to the final eight. It wasn't until the day before The Feast that things went to hell.

I am not Marlin. I'm not calculating or even brilliant in the slightest. I can't hit a tribute in the eye for fifty yards away and keep going like nothing happened. But I have a fire within me to prove to my Sea Captain father that I am not just some worthless, directionless freeloader. My older brother was born to be a man of the sea, a man my father would be proud to call his son. I am not Hurley, I am Tullius Pike. I'm the kid that wasn't supposed to make it past five years old here I am, strapping and strong. My scars, they make me whom I am and I wouldn't change it for anything.

I won't do this for my father, nor my brother. My mother knows my worth, so she doesn't need my win to remind her.

I'm doing this for Tully Pike. I'm doing it for me.

"Maybe I am selfish," I mutter to myself, too low for Thalassa to hear.

The sun, which seemed to only come out just a short time ago, was really letting its presence known. I can't help but follow its position in the sky, noting that while it hadn't hit high noon yet, it was getting close.

Wait a second...

"THE REAPING!"

Thalassa's eyes grow wide in horror as the realization that we are royally screwed hits her. If we miss Reaping, they will come for us and it won't be pretty. There is no time to see if Trent realized it and barely enough time for us to gather our things. Dressed only in our wet bathing suits, we throw on our sandals and bolt at full speed to the Town Square, which is luckily not that far from the harbor.

As we grew closer to our destination, I could hear our long-standing escort prattling on and welcoming future tributes, while the crowd begins to rumble. With no one in line, our fingers are pricked quickly and with annoyed force on their end, obviously pissed that we're so late and not in our Reaping best. Luckily they recognize our only male victor's little sister, so they let us go with little resistance and we slid our way into our pens and await the outcome. Nowhere to be found, however, is Trent.

If no one goes up, if Marlin's tribute doesn't make a show of it, I'm in.

With his blue hair and hideous turquoise suit, Orestes Opal must be every Capitol stereotype thrown into a blender with flair added to it and he's making it worse with the toddle walk that he does over to the girls' bowl.

"Ladies first!" he fingers all the names in the bowl, before pulling out the unlucky lady. "Oceania Markos!"

The name sounds familiar, but I can't put the face to memory as a fifteen year old makes her way the stage, keeping her head high as to not embarrass her family. However, her walk is short lived, as Orestes asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer!"

Her face, I do recognize. Maritime Meridian, the only daughter of a rival fisherman. After his wife left him high and dry with three kids, the family faced some hard times, but not hard enough were Maritime couldn't train. Stuck up, judgmental, and vain, this girl is probably going to grind my gears until we hit the arena. If I make it to the-

"Well, Miss Meridian, shall we see who your partner is?" Another toddle to the bowl and another name is called. "Calder Zale!"

Trembling, a kid barely old enough to be in the Reaping makes his way up the middle path to the stage, his cries audible over the murmur of the crowd. His hair is a mess, his clothes are loose fitting, he's a younger sibling wearing his big brother's hand-me-downs, I can tell. Hell, I was that kid a few years ago. And, despite our vow to never let a child go into the games, no one makes a move. Not a single guy makes a move. Trent, man...I thought you wanted this?

But it isn't a trained tribute that takes this kid place, nor is it Trent or his big brother. I raise my hand as though I've got the right answer at school and my voice booms out across the crowd.

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Calder can't help but give me a hug before rushing back to his spot, leaving me alone as I walk with confidence towards my fate. Maritime stares me down, her gaze never wavering, as I make my way up with pride in my step. If they want to see a weakling, they can keep on moving. I'm the guy that fears nothing.

"And whom are you?" Orestes asks, fawning over me. "You sure are handsome."

With all the gusto I can muster, I blurt out, "Pike. Tully Pike, sir."

He forces us to shake hands, which I do with style, even winking at Maritime to get her going. Our escort giggles, while the crowd starts eating out of my hand. I keep it going by taking a bow, sending some of the younger kids in hysterics and making the ladies swoon. Of course, this is just my nature. Peacekeepers try in vain to calm down the crowd, while I keep it going. I kiss our elderly mayor, Madame Briny Delta, on the lips before Peacekeepers grab me and start shoving me into the Justice Center. I'm kinda glad too, because the only way to top that was probably stage diving back into the crowd.

"Wait here, kid!" I find myself flying face first into the first small room, barely missing the end table that seemed a bit out of place. "You'll have an hour to say your goodbyes."

His voice is ominous and I can't help but shutter. Did I really damn myself to an early grave? Should I have just let that kid die instead?

No. Kid or no kid, I would have volunteered anyway.

My older brother Hurley comes in first, noticeably missing his wife and hiding his eyes that match my own under his fishing cap. What they don't hide is the pained expression that hurts so bad. At first, he doesn't say a word and just stands there, like a lump on a log. And then-

"You've gotta come back, Tull!" His burly arms, so used to dragging in hauls of fish out of the ocean, wrap around me and I find myself hugging him back. "I can't lose you, little brother. I just can't."

It was never a secret that my brother loved me, he was just never one to show it. As our father's son, he wasn't really allowed to, it wasn't what was expected of him. And yet, here he was, his tears soaking my bare shoulder as he refuses to let me go. I can't bring myself to be the first one to let go, so I let him have at it for the next few minutes.

"Noelani is having a boy." I can almost see it coming and yet, it doesn't stop from hurting my pride when it does. "I'm going to name him Tully after you if the worst should happen."

What he isn't saying is when you don't come back. When you end up decapitated by some hulking sociopath from Two or jumped by a scared child from Eleven. He's already counting on me not coming back and it's making me doubt myself.

"Why did you do it, Tull?"

I shrug my shoulders. "You know why, Hurl."

He knows, but he doesn't say.

"I love you, little brother," he says, before leaving me.

"I love you, too."

Thalassa's tears greet me next and I can't hide my feelings anymore. I pull my best friend in and, for a moment, it is only us in the world. She blubbers, not making a single lick of sense, and yet, I can understand it all. She is mad at me for leaving her and begging me not to go.

"I'm coming back, Thal," I reassure her, my voice swaying like a boat during a storm. "I promise."

"I made Marlin promise me that, but he couldn't do it," she informs me, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. "The odds aren't always there, no matter how good you are."

"I wouldn't have done this if I didn't think I could do it," I remind her, kissing her wet cheek. "This is the only way to show my dad that I am worthy."

She shakes her head and looks down. "You're an idiot is you've ever thought for just one moment that you weren't already."

Without saying goodbye, she storms off, leaving me with just her words.

I expect Trent to come in next, yelling at me about stealing his thunder, or not grabbing him when we realized the time, but he never shows up. Instead, my last visitors are my parents. While Hurley gets his darker features from our father, there isn't a doubt to anyone whom I take after, in both looks and personality. Morwenna Pike, matriarch of the Pike family and all around amazing woman, storms into the room and slaps me across the face. After the sting reaches my senses, she pulls me in for a hug.

"Tully...why'd ya do it?"

"Mother..."

"I can't lose you, Tully," she sobs, before hitting me in the shoulder. "I almost lost you once, I can't even think about what it would be like to have you gone from our lives."

On instinct, my hand moves to the jagged scar slashed down my chest.

"Do what you need to, Tully," her green eyes burn into mine as she gives me the last advice she may ever have the chance to give me. "Make alliances and kill others; you won't make it by relying solely on your looks and personality. You're going to have to become the villain if you want to make it out alive."

She kisses me on the forehead, then leaves me. For the first time in my life, she is forced to abandon me.

"Tullius." For whatever reason, Leith Pike has never once in his life called me anything other than "son" or my given name, Tullius. "I-"

"I know, dad."

"Make sure you come back."

"I will, dad."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, son. No matter what."

With a strong handshake, he leaves me and it's only then that I allow myself to fully feel the gravity of my situation and it hits me all at once. Sparing the life of that kid that didn't even bother to thank me is ending my own before I even turn seventeen. The reason I did it was to have my dad say the words he left me with and now I feel so hallow.

I got everything I've ever wanted and now I'm going to die.

My mind finds its way back to my other best friend and right hand. Trent should have been here by now, biting my head off for stealing his thunder and threatening to volunteer next year and make a better showing than I did. Last I saw him, he was making a dash down the pier, going towards his house...

….Trent wasn't in our section at the Reaping. He must have missed it. And if that's the truth, then that means...

Oh no...


	9. District 5 Reapings

**_A/N: And we're back in business with the District 5 reapings! It took so long, but this story is not dying and there won't be another hiatus that long. I'm hoping we can post a reaping each Sunday. UPDATE: We got the rest of the reaping from GenuineHarajukuDoll. Yay!_**

* * *

 _Alana Lilith Bedfordshire, District 5 Female- GenuineHarajukuDoll_

I lie carelessly on the edge of one of the many hammocks outside the courtyard of the Rehabilitation Center. It's quite breezy today and I'm wearing nearly nothing, but a simple nightgown which is hardly any coverage. Swaying my legs back and forth, with a small smirk plastered across my features, I stare up at the cerulean sky emotionlessly.

Today, I will volunteer as Tribute for my District. Yeah, I may despise them, but I need to be assured that I have protection from those damned Peacekeepers. They are always pestering me for no apparent reason. I believe it's majorly Commander Setton who absolutely loves pissing me off.

We always clash heads, whether it's over if I hit the showers yet or if I'm settled into bed by curfew, he's always fucking with me. I'm always suspected of doing something entirely wrong when from my own knowledge I know I'm not. Maybe it's because that bitch, Koh, my bunkmate snitched on me and now I can't be trusted. I should've gotten rid of her earlier, but that would've cost me another whipping or so at the Square.

Relieving myself of a sigh, I direct my stare to the cracked ground beneath my scathed feet. Dried mud from yesterday's work adorns the creases of my toes. Thoughtfully, I imagine Slade beside me on the hammock with his lopsided signature grin. I am immediately put at ease at the simple thought of him. Closing my eyes for a mere second, I finally look up and notice a Peacekeeper standing above me. He tauntingly holds a sharpened blade in one hand as the remainder of the blades are neatly ordered into the holster on his pant leg. I mockingly smile at him, much to his annoyance.

"Hey, how ya' doing?" I nonchalantly greet the man with a plain wave. Suddenly, I'm grasped by the shoulder firmly and brought upwards. Nearly tripping over my own feet, I throw a glare in the direction of a trio of Peacekeepers. One of them shoves me in the back and ushers me forward to the entrance of the isolated building.

"Get dressed!" barks Commander Setton.

I defensively hold up my hands. "My bad, my bad," I sarcastically apologize with an immature gesture of my hand, "Chief."

Setton settles his death glare on me as I enter the building with him following closely behind me, I sigh for about the umpteenth time today. "Alana, come here child! I've gotten you this blouse and skirt for the Reapings today at the market!" squeals Janine.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the ginger woman. Falsely smiling up at the her, I direct my attention towards the folded clothes resting on her forearm. Eh, they look alright. Nothing to be excited about. Just another day in the Rehabilitation Center.

After I get showered and made up all pretty for the reaping, I go to the Square with Janine beside me. She sports a plain creamy yellow dress that accentuates her figure and white flats on her feet. Resembling me, her hair is placed into an elaborate and decorative updo. "Ala! If I'm not mistaken you're volunteering, correct?"

I roll my eyes at her question. "Oh, how'd you know?" I ask, obvious sarcasm slathered in my tone.

She shrugs with a radiant smile, "Koh told me!" I immediately fix my mouth into a frown. How'd Koh find out?

I know that more than likely I'll go into the Games. Not only am I 17, poor and living on my own, but I'm also an outcast, a thief, and my family has had multiple members in it executed. I let their deaths push me to be better, though, especially my brother Slade.

I get checked into the reaping and know that the lady there knows who I am. She gives me a pointed look as I go to the seventeen-year-old section. I know the people I pass give me condescending looks. I'm all alone, family killed for illegal acts in front of the whole District... Not to mention I'm a well-known thief. I know they're waiting for a reason to kill me, but if I have to do it I want to do it on my own terms.

I would talk to friends or family, but I have none left. I guess you could say I'm a lone wolf. I stand by myself, crossing my arms and feeling overwhelmingly out-of-place. The escort, Jovian Ricci, steps up on stage and welcomes District 5 to the reaping. We watch the usual Capitol video and he retrieves a name from the reaping bowl.

"Alana Lillith Bedfordshire!" I freeze up before I start the walk to the stage, looking determined and brave. I'm not going to let them kill me and I certainly won't go down without a fight. I think of my brother and my mother as I go up the stairs. Then, Jovian picks the boy's name.

"Levi Wynde!" There's a slight pause. A boy with brown hair comes out of the 14-year-old section, looking shocked and frightened. The District claps for us and we go back into the Justice Building.

I don't get any visitors and I don't expect any. Instead I use this time to put my thoughts together. I take out the item I brought for a token as I was planning to volunteer, a bronze medallion that has the initials of my brother on it. My father gave this to him right before he died while my mother was pregnant with me. Now I have it to remember Slade and the other family members I lost. Remembering my brother makes me determined to win, to become a strong young woman and to live well.

I have to do it.

For Slade.

* * *

 _Levi Wynde, District 5 Male- rising-balloons_

When I wake up the morning of the Reapings, as expected, I am rather uncomfortable. Not in the figurative sense, you know, being uncomfortable with the fact that two kids I might know are being chosen to fight to the death on live TV today. I mean literally. Erinn's giggling loudly (and probably sitting on my back, from the feel of it), and my locket is pressed into my cheek. Ouch. I groan.

"G'morning!" Erinn chirps, pleased that she's managed to irritate me.

"Erinn..."

She doesn't pick up on the warning note in my tone. "Mom says you have to get up now or we'll be late. Do you like my dress? I like my dress. It's pretty, see? And Mom helped me with my hair! Don't I look great?"

"I'll RUIN your hair if you don't get off!" I yell playfully, beginning to squirm under her. She squeals and hops off.

"Mom says to be down in ten minutes!" she adds before running back downstairs.

I sigh before throwing off the covers.

 _Sisters. Especially nine-year-old ones._

I walk into the bathroom, pulling my locket off my face. Peering into the mirror, and obvious red upside-down heart is indented on my cheek. Shoot! Of all days, why today? I mean, it isn't picture day or anything, but supposed I get reaped? I'll look like an idiot! Heck, I do look like an idiot!

Groaning again, I comb through my hair as quickly as possible. I change into my nice shirt and pants and shoes, the locket slipping underneath it all. I look okay, I guess. Still, my pale skin helps accent the stupid-looking mark on my right cheek. I can only hope it'll fade before my friends see it. Especially Mirabel.

I'm drifting off into a daydream about Mirabel when my mom shouts from the first floor, "LEVI! WE'RE LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES!"

She's not bluffing! I hurry downstairs to shove some food in my face before taking off. Being late isn't something the Wyndes do. On the way there, I smack my cheek, hoping to cover up the obvious mark. When we get to the table, they draw some blood (why does it always hurt so darn much?) and I say my good-byes to my parents and Erinn. My parents look worried. Erinn, at this point, looks a little bored.

In the crowd, I finally find Mirabel. She greets me happily enough; "Hey, you goof! What'd you to do your face?"

I grin, knowing Mirabel's joking. "I slept on the locket," I explain. She grins back at me, and immediately, my mood is much better. I like to think of myself as a person who's generally happy. Today just wasn't my day.

Mirabel, being a girl, can wear her locket over her shirt. She fingers it now. We have the same ones. BFFs Forever, right?

Then, of course, her eyes catch sight of my finger. "Band-Aids? Really?"

"Hey, the thingy they do really hurts!" I argue, pushing her playfully. She shrugs.

"It does, I guess, but enough for a Cinderella Band-Aid?" She laughs.

I laugh with her. I really am a mess today.

We banter for a bit longer before the mayor makes his speech. Same speech as always, I guess. I kind of spaced out. Mostly about Mirabel. She looks really pretty today, with her dark brown hair and heart-shaped face and her wide blue eyes and her purple dress...

Eventually, our escort, Jovian Ricci, stepped onstage and headed to the girl's slips.

"Alana Lillith Bedforshire!"

A girl comes out of the 17-year-old section. She has wavy brown hair, tan skin, and looks strong and built. I recognize the name... A lot of District people have talked bout her with scorn.

The girl, who's old enough and who I've never met, waits on the stage for Jovian to pull the next name. I tense. I always do, even though I'm sure it won't be me. It can't be me. I'm only fourteen. The odds are impossibly low.

"Levi Wynde!"

Relief floods me. _Thank God. I was psyching myself out. I'm okay._

I look at Mirabel, who's to my right. To my confusion, she looks like she's about to burst into tears. Why is that?

Shoot.

The odds weren't low enough.

In shock, I make my way up to the stage, barely able to move. The same thought pulses through my brain, seemingly taking up all the space that's in there. I can't think anything else. _I'm in the Hunger Games. I'm in the Hunger Games. I'm in the Hunger Games._

Jovian declares us the tributes as the rest of the District claps, glad it wasn't someone they knew. I must be white as a sheet. Shoot, that probably lets my upside-down heart mark show more. I look like an idiot, probably. Especially with the Band-Aid.

When I'm in the room to say goodbyes, my parents and Erinn are the first ones in. My mom is crying. My dad is extremely stoic. Erinn is upset and throwing a bit of a tantrum.

After them is Mirabel, who's also crying. We talk for a while, but nothing really takes away our worries like usual, which chills me. We've always been able to cheer each other up. When Mirabel's mother had her first, then second miscarriage. When Erinn was deathly ill with pneunomia. Nothing has stopped us.

After Mirabel is no one important, really. When the last well-wisher is out of the way, I finally take out my locket, staring at the pictures of Mirabel and me laughing and being idiots.

I wish so badly that we're walking home together right now being those idiots again. Nothing's more entertaining.

Not even, despite their purpose, the Hunger Games.


	10. District 6 Reapings

_Magenta Rosewood, District 6 female- winter's cry_

I really hate District Six.

"You should've been proud of your District," everyone reminds me, but I still hate it. And it's hard not too.

I mean: District One has there streets of gold, District Two has there winning streak in the Games, and District Four has there "a pretty, little ocean." Or that's what the the dying girl from Four said last year.

But District Six has crime. It infects the streets littered with stubs of cigarettes, brothel doorways, and bottles stripped of their alcohol. It's in the hearts of the half dressed Peacekeepers, or the young drug runner who feet still bleeds, or the elderly man who owns a gun. Crime is in there very hearts. Or that's the Six that I have grown up in.

I've learned to run fast in the back alley of Mercedes's drug den, or fight better with a knife than some senior gang members at Cel's bar (you want to see the scars that prove it?). I've been whipped at the post for stealing books for Ol' Ben (for several coins), and lost I've lost a left pinky in a booby trap surrounding Mayra's rich house (don't try to steal from there).

And now I am walking around my hated Hell to say goodbye. An emotion that tastes like the sweet smell of stolen oranges, and the rush of adrenaline after completing a successful run. Maybe reminiscing about the past has stirred up this forgiven emotion that tears are in the corners of my eyes. The water in those corners remind me that I am human. A damn, weak human, and that damn, stupid emotion. I can't name it, it's too pure for me.

To a passing stranger at this late hour, my appearance is nothing out of the ordinary. Loose trousers covered in grease stains from the factories pumping of smoke, a tunic of dull brown—more patches than original fabric (found it in the trash.) My choppy, black hair is tucked under a hat, with a few strands pressed to my dirt-streaked face, and I ease the nerve to brush it away.

No stranger can see the tears in my small eyes (thank Panem!), or feel this strange emotion. And no stranger can detect a long knife hidden under my stained pants. One that will draw blood, lots of blood. No stranger could even know I am Longfang—the drug lord of District Six.

And no stranger knows the secret I am holding about tomorrow.

—

Glass crunches beneath my feet as I walked through the crime torn streets. Eyes narrow and wary for anyone, my pale hand clutches my knife in my pants. I am unnerved, anyone could attack. My eyes dark to the side alleys filled with the stench of rotting trash.

A long time ago I once overheard my teacher commenting that it was like the Dark Days never left, and I can't help but agree. But if the Dark Days were like this I could easily survive it.

A rustle comes from another alley, and my head snaps to where I heard the noise. In no time at all I'm on the ground in a crouch, knife out and eyes peering into the darkness.

I forced her mind to stay level—even though I want to run like the coward I am. Peacekeepers don't patrol this area, and Berk certainly knows that I live here.

The new head Peacekeeper was out for blood to find and capture me. (Let him try.) And as much as the citizens may hate me, they hate the Capitol more. So when asked about my appearance, they are quite vague.

'He has pale skin,' and 'Longfang has dark eyes.' Few know Longfang is a girl.

 _Focus!_ My mind screams. _It could be one of the rebels._ As well as Berk (that bastard) is trying to capture me, a small scale rebellion is taking place in the drug monarchy. People are angry about the higher prices of morphling and the Peacekeepers cracking down. And everyone in the drug network craves for my top spot, that top dog. I don't go hungry, I don't worry about the Reaping. The Peacekeepers don't know who I am. Their 'Longfang' is just a boy who runs a drug network. But this spot is mine. I will keep it.

Crunch. Someone is stepping on glass, and it sounds like it's from the alley on my left. The person is untrained for sure and I probably could take them in a fight, but I'd just injured my arm a few days ago (stupid Peacekeeper, but I'd made him pay. His blood was a dark red).

Everywhere in Six there are window ledges sticking out in the same distance apart. It was the perfect place for climbing. I sprint closer to the dismal, gray building and leap upward—grasping on to the ledge. A flaring pain shot up from my arm, and I bit my lip to hold back a scream. I try to keep silent as I keep climbing upward toward to gutter that was on every building in Six.

By the third floor I was breathing heavily. I now realize that by doing fewer drug runs I have been getting quite out of top shape. But no one likes drug runs, fighting is better. Your life for a dose of morphine. And that's a problem, but my attacker probably doesn't do drug runs either.

And as much as I have faith in her abilities of running, sneaking, and escaping I don't want to look back. I would rather not see if that person is chasing me, because I would panic. Fear is what gets you killed out here; it doesn't let you think strait or even act well.

When I reach the metal gutter, my attacker is gone. He just gave up, and I feel the tension in my shoulders release. I lean over the edge, peering over to see how high up I am. The ground was far down and anyway would look the size of birds. I feel dizzy looking over the edge, the floor was miles away, but I could almost feel free of the ever pouring smoke in the sky. I could see the billowing clouds from where I stand—or crouch.

I am ready for tomorrow, for the little joy of the saved face, for the signing of her own death. I am ready, bring it on.

I never owned much. Even lying in my old, musty bed the room felt empty. From the shelf, to the dark chest of draws, to the window letting in the gray sunlight of the morning, it was all empty. And my damn room matched my damned heart. Empty. Waiting for that void to be filled. And it matched my attitude.

I felt that odd emotion rush up her veins, and it filled my eyes with water. Cool rivers soon ran down my face, leaving tracks of fresh, pale skin—newly washed with the tears of a martyr. The walls started closing in, and I couldn't breathe. I need to get out of here. Before someone see's me weak.

My breath makes a rushing sound as I threw on my only dress, and run out of the building. I completely ignore her frizzy, dark hair, and that several Peacekeepers that patrolled the block. The ones who are trying to kill 'Longfang,' and the pathetic smaller gangs revolting. I just have to get out of this damned District.

So today the Reaping will be my savior. My wrath will be unleashed.

Walking into the District square was truly a time of anger. No one noticed me: the white clothed Peacekeeper just stabbed my freaking finger (thank Panem it wasn't the pinky) with the blood tally pin, the woman with gray hair just waved her onward to the 16-year-old section, and the bloody bastard they called Berk was standing on the podium like he was a damn Victor. He doesn't deserve such "honor."

On the platform stood the eight adults they call Victors, their victory of killing innocent children—not that I haven't. I guess that makes me a Victor. I smirk, I will be one soon.

The people kept crowding closer to the stage, each one pleading for the safety in the midst of a war zone. The windows blown out, the pavement crumbling, weeds sprouting up, and—was that blood on the sidewalk? I feel a heartless grin sneak up to my face, the troubled soul died in a skirmish war. It was dried but by how red it was, it was probably a few days old.

A stillness settled over the crowd as the mayor stood up and walked over to the cheap, wood podium. Even the damned blonde crowding next to me shut up, and 'bout time for that. (No stabbing was necessary for the bitch to shut up.) The mayor's eyes were dark and gloomy, he must be still weighing the odds that his 12-year-old son would be reaped. The odds were slim to none, but even so decades ago a small 12-year-old was reaped. One whose odds were none, and she still was reaped.

I feel another smirk settle on my face, the mayor will not have karma on his side.

When the mayor keeps reading the damned Treaty of Treason. People visibly zoned out, shoulders were resting on heads, hands clasped—not in the destruction of the long lost war, but in foreign emotion. One that still survives despite the blown out windows, and murdered bodies. Hope. How can they're hope survive? I lost mine a long time ago.

The mayor finally finished reading the damn history—the past is in the past, right?

Then the damned escort stepped forward, and the entire square held its breath. You could hear a pin drop. I would drop a pin, if I wasn't scared too. I wonder how the Careers do it, gather up the courage to sign their death. It's hard you know, people should give them more credit, well more courage for being killing machines.

But even with my mind going a mile a minute, I can still feel the fear. It tastes like cold steel and burnt bread. And it covers me with bumpy skin, and chattering teeth.

The Escort, Silvester, seriously needs to get out of this District—he's blinding me. He's wearing a bright silver suit that seems to reflect the light, with bright silver shoes and hat. The colors look like beacons of light compared to the cement and dirt colored back drop. Just sweetheart, take the joy to somewhere it won't get crushed.

His light skinned hand reaches into the glass bowl holding slips more fragile than a person's final breath, and the square holds it breath even more. It wanders around stirring up little white wings, and rests on a single white slip. He slowly draws out the fragile, little thing, and opens it.

"Alison Begnta," He reads those words with a smile, like it's a good thing. A sobbing girl with brown hair walks out of the 17 year-old section. Pathetic.

Now it's my turn, here goes something. I draw in some shaky breaths and raise my voice. Surprisingly I don't feel anything, I'm as light as a feather and as stiff as a board. I'm frozen, I'm inhumane, I'm going to die if I stay in this damned District.

"I volunteer," I let my cold voice ring out in the crowd. An adult in the back lets out a sob, a sob of joy. The little coward will live another year. I feel my lip curl at this, and the girl make a path for me to get out of the hoards they put me in.

I strut up to the stage, letting my mind wander about the food I'll get to eat, than my death. I ignore my shaky legs and try to sallow the idea that I'm dying.

But it's either a knife in my gut, or a rope around my neck. Hanged in this damned District, or be stabbed in a glittering forest. I chose the forest.

"We have a volunteer!" Silvester regains his composure and wipes the look of disbelief off his face. He tilts the metal thing that amplifies my voice toward me. "What's your name, darling?"

I force out the most cold voice I could muster—which is freezing mind you. "Magenta Rosewood." Everyone knows the Games are rigged, so telling everyone I'm Longfang isn't a good idea. The Capital would have me dead by the first night. Now I just tell my pathetic name.

I plan to be regal as my angle. Regal and cold. And angry. Lots and lots of anger.

The escort walks up to the boys' bowl, and the Square hold their breaths, (again.) We all know two volunteers in the same year is too good to be true. The reaped will just have to accept his fate. Silvester digs into the bowl and draws out a paper. Much faster than last time, or was time just going slowly for me?

"Castor Heyme." A boy walks out of the 17 year-old section, tears leaking out of his moss green eyes, and it's obvious that he is trying to control his poor emotions. _He's not a good actor_ , I notice. _But, he could be acting that he is bad at acting._ Ugh! Already been a few minutes and I'm already paranoid.

He barely makes it too the stage, and too soon I'm forced to shake his hand. I may play it cold, but this guy could be useful. I force pity into my eyes and give a 'reassuring' smile. That should get him to trust me.

All too soon we're forced to walk to the marble Justice Building, the only thing in this damn District that isn't broken in and in good shape. I try not to make it obvious, but I'm digging my heels into the pavement and walking really slowly, annoying the Peacekeepers is my little revenge. They can't push or kill me now, I'm a tribute. One of the chosen 24.

This may be heaven in hell. I'm sitting in plush velvet, and around me are pictures of mayors and presidents. A bowl of fruits in on the dark colored table, and some of the fruits are in my tunic.

I clutch the gold ring on my right ring finger. This ring was my mother's. In a time back where hope flourished and people were actually happy.

Suddenly, the doors bursts open. A older woman with brown hair hurries in. Her gold eyes bore into mine, and I sallow the need to flinch away. She comes up to me, as if she is walking on eggshells.

"Thank you," she whispers. She must be the mother of Alison. "Thank you so much." She begins to sob. Pathetic, like her daughter.

"How can I repay you?" She asks, her gold eyes filled with tears. "I can give bread to your family, help your boyfriend, take care of the people you lov—"

"I don't have anyone who loves me. My family is dead," I comment dryly. The mother's face falls.

"I'm sorry. I should leave now," I nod at her, but before she turns around she wraps her arm around me. Then, whispering so silently that I have to strain my ears, "Remember, that the enemy isn't the tribute clutching the knife. Remember who the real enemy is, Longfang," I stiffen at the name. _How can she know?_

Before I could ask her, the door was pushed open and the mother is gone.

No longer than a few minutes later, a small girl with curly hair wanders in. She plots silently next to me, and I stiffen (again) at such closeness.

"I'm sorry, Magenta, but I will keep this short." Her mouth barely moves, and based of the angle she's at its so the cameras can't see it moving. They just must think she's my friend, but I don't know her. She has a secret she must tell me.

"We are so sorry you had to volunteer. But on behalf of everyone in the District we want to thank you." I open my mouth the argue but she continues too quickly.

"I know you think you weren't helping, but every time you stole from the Capitol or cheated them or fooled them, you helped us. No you didn't directly help the people, but in the long term you have helped.

"Don't play this game. Give them hell, but please get out of here alive. We would like to have you for us." I am really confused. I'm not helpful, it was only for me. I'm selfish, this wasn't for anything else. But I don't make anymore, I just relax my body, trying to make it seem like this girl is my friend.

"You must give hope to those who don't have it," The curly haired girl got up. She faces me and draws me into a hug. "Longfang, remember who the real enemy is."

I feel her press something into my hand, and when the curly haired girl leaves I study it. It was a simple piece of paper, nothing really extraordinary about it. Nothing special except a sketch.

It's of a bird, one of the only birds that thrives in this damned District. It has the black wings with white patches, and fire danced around the bottom of its white tipped tail.

A mockingjay.

* * *

 _Castor Dean Heyme, District 6 Male- TARDIS Traveller_

I hate when things are broken, and I hate it even more when remain broken. I hate when people don't fix it themselves. That leaves me to fix it, and honestly I don't mind.

My dad used to say the urge to fix things is why I was made for Six instead of Two or Five or one of the agriculture based Districts. He says the angels up in heaven knew about that and placed me accordingly. I think I only loving repairing things because it's what the district does: build and repair.

There's many things I hate about my district; the crime, the poverty most people lived in, the lack of victors. Yet there are many things that counter the cons, the things I love; the garage, my dad, Dylan–my best friend, and the wild just a hundred yards past the fence.

We are not supposed to go passed the fence in which electric currents swam down the wires, but if I'm cautious I can wriggle under the danger without being seen and enjoy a few hours of freedom. Sooner or later I'd come back. I would never ever willingly leave my dad. Since my mother's death, he always seemed on the verge of tears and just barely holding himself upright. But that didn't stop me from going past the fence and plunging into the wild.

Unable to fall back asleep, I creep out of my bed and tread quietly by my father. His heavy breathing and faint snores tell me he is deep asleep and I have no intentions of disturbing him.

I cross the hall and step onto the kitchen's freezing tiles. Despite being June, mornings plunged down to cold temperatures before heating back up again around nine. The kitchen is tiny, one meter wide and two meters long. It is only able to hold one banged up stove we salvaged from the dump and repaired, a cramped counter top, and a compartment under the table for food.

I walk over to the counter top and grab the small apple resting on the surface. It's two days old and taken (illegally) from an apple tree I found on one of my ventures beyond the fence. Sinking my teeth into it, I feel some lukewarm juice trickle down my throat. It is definitely not enough to sooth the morning soreness of it, but it's all I can do.

Glancing down at my watch, I notice it's five. Six hours to kill. Hopefully it will just be hours I'm killing…

Hefting my pack with one hand, I sling it over one shoulder and head to the door. There I pause, looking behind me at the two-room home. I feel guilty leaving my father to wake up to an empty house, but I'm not entirely worried. He will know where I am headed. I left before like this so he's used to it. With that thought, I let out a sigh of reluctance and step out into the five o'clock air.

There is no a moon tonight, only a thin crescent suspended halfway up the sky, sunk into dark nothingness. What stars I could see glimmered faintly. Being in an industrial District, the lights drown out half the stars and only if I go to the outskirts, where the fence keeps the neat, grid-like District from the untamed woods, can I see the stars.

Light seeps into the sky from the east, turning the inky black into murky grey. I listen to my footsteps hit the road; crunching when it's dirt, slapping when it's pavement. It's silent other than that. The factories don't normally start until six and today they will not start at all. One could say it is a..."special" day.

I would be there right now had I taken my bike, but today I felt like going slow and savoring the scenery. I always do that on this day every year. These day could my last day at home, I think every year around this time. And I don't want to forget my home if that's the case.

A couple minutes later I find myself on the outside of a large cluster of old, decaying buildings. To my right is a garage, it's door a crack above the ground. I smile, knowing what it means. Dylan is already here! Tossing the apple core into a nearby bush, I sneak around the back and kick open the back door. It swings open easily, squeaking on rusty hinges. The figure of a boy, previously hunched over the hood of an old car, turns around at the noise, ready for an attacker. When he realizes it's me, he instantly relaxes and a smile creeps up onto his face.

"Cas!" he greets. "How's it going?"

I shrug, setting down my bag onto the cement floor. "Alright, I guess. Nothing too exciting. How 'bout you?"

He spreads his arms and I notice his fingers are dirty with something dark. Probably just grease from the engine. "Just fixing this baby," he replies casually, patting the car's side.

"Well, you know me. Happy to help."

"Actually, I was thinking of doing it...later," answers Dylan as he closed the hood, pausing before later. I know what he means but I don't say anything. We have this unspoken rule that we will never bring that up on this day, at least until we are both safe. "Too early to concentrate."

I want to point out that it's always too early for Dylan's focus, but for some reason I keep silent. Teasing just doesn't sit well with me today for some reason, which is strange because he and I teased each other before like it was no big deal. With nothing to say, a silence surrounds us. Being close friends, it isn't so much awkward as threatening. Any thought of the future is threatening to us, being teens. One small action and our lives can be altered forever, for better or for worse.

I take a deep breath.

"Well," I begin, glancing around the room. "Wanna do something? As long as it takes my mind is off other things, I'd do anything."

Smirking, Dylan gestures to the car.

"If that's the case, then we have…" the boy leans over the table to check his watch he set on the table before, "…five hours to fix this car. You ready?"

I grin. "You bet."

 _Five hours later…_

I stand in line, waiting. One by one, twelve to eighteen-year-olds are leaving to find their place among the crowd. Sooner than I want, I am at the first of the line and the woman boredly says, "Hand." I extend it and she pricks a finger with a needle, taking that finger and smudging it on the paper. As soon as she is done, I yank my arm away from her and make my way to the array of boys to the left of the center aisle. My hearts beats faster with a sense of dread and fear. I don't want to do this. I don't want my teenage years to be in jeopardy, I don't want this to be a gamble, a risk, for my life. My feet shuffle along the stones, trying to delay the whole thing, but I end up among the boys age seventeen and unwillingly turn to face the stage. The only good thing is Dylan standing right beside me. At least I have a friend.

"Hang in there, buddy," reassures Dylan with an annoying yet comforting smirk. "In thirty minutes, this'll be over and we can go back to the garage." When there's no obvious response forming, he carries on, "Just think, after this we only have one more year until we're finally out."

I heave a sigh, closing my eyes. I nod to show I've heard, but most of my attention is focused on calming my nerves.

The clock strikes eleven and our District's mayor steps up to the front of the stage. His eyes have a distant look to them and I know he is thinking about his own children's fates and weighing the possibilities. With luck, his son will be safe another year.

The mayor starts reading the Treaty of Treason, as customary every year, and I notice the people around me zoning out. Their heads droop slightly throughout the duration of the speech and their eyes become unfocused and glassy. I feel myself fading and don't try to stop it. I don't care about the words being said any more than I care about the Capitol and the Peacekeepers, which is impossible for me to do. I hated the Peacekeepers even since I learned how my mother died; whipped to death for everyone to see for trying to make life fair. Fury grows inside of me and I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palm.

 _Snap out of it!_ I think. _Not here, not now. It's past! Nothing you can do can change it now!_

Closing my eyes, I take a deep shaky breath. I barely noticed Dylan's concerned look my way, but my mind replays it over and over again, trying to subdue my emotions.

 _Control it_ , the rational half of me thinks. _What would your friends say if you let vengeance take over?_

It takes the whole speech, but I finally get a handle on my impulses. The mayor recedes from his spot and another man takes his place. Silvester Lush. The escort steps onto the stage. His clothing choice gleams in the sun so it's hard to look directly at him. The light bounces over his silver pants, silver jacket, and silver shoes. I guess he's trying to live up to his name Silvester. I wouldn't be surprised if he felt the urge to dye his jet black hair silver, too. He is like a beacon of light in this dirty, run-down district.

With a greeting of "Welcome to the Ninety-Seventh Annual Games!" and a "First, the ladies," he struts over to the bowl containing the female names and reaches a pale arm inside. He digs around for a second before grabbing one and triumphantly yanking it out.

Please not Sera.

"Alison Begnita!" he announces and I instantly am relieved, then I feel a tiny bit guilty that I'm relieved as I watch a brown-haired girl trudge up to the stage, tears leaking from her eyes.

Though why should I feel guilty? Everyone is glad when they find out they aren't reaped for the Games. They are all fine that it wasn't them or anyone they care about. I start to feel guilty that I felt guilty over being relieved. As someone in the actual reaping pool, I have the right to be fine with someone being sent to death instead of those I love, don't I?

"I volunteer!" rings a cold voice throughout the square. Not panicked, not desperate, no love or emotion at all. It snaps me from my thoughts. Mine, Dylan's, and everyone else's head turns to find where the voice came from. An adult lets out a choked back sob in her good fortune as I stare intensely at the girl's section, waiting for the owner of the voice to step out of the crowd.

A girl, about sixteen, walks out confidently. She has long, black hair and dark eyes, and an expression that I take as _'Don't mess with me'_.

The Reaped girl—Alison, I remember—spins around, tears of happiness escaping down her cheeks, as the volunteered saunters towards the stage. By the sad smile Alison has on her face, I think the two girls are friends, but the Volunteer doesn't smile. In fact, she ignores Alison as she gets into position standing next to the escort.

Silvester perks up and says brightly, "We have a volunteer!"

 _Never would have guessed_ , I think sarcastically, watching as the disbelief wipes itself from his face and he regains his composure.

"What's your name darling?" he asks, that false grin on his face.

"Magenta Rosewood," she answers in a cold, drawling voice. I scan the escort's face, wondering how he will react to this sort of tone, but he just raises his eyebrows and moves on the the bowl of boys' names. My heart is beating fast now and I try to slow it down with deep breathing. _I hope it's not me, I hope it's not me, I hope…_

Silvester Lush plunges his hand into the bowl.

 _No one I care about, no one I love._

Silvester Lush churns his hand in the slips of paper.

 _Please!_

Silvester Lush pulls out a slip of paper.

 _Don't say 'Dylan'. Don't say it. Don't, don't, don't._

I dig my nails even harder into my palm with each don't.

 _Don't do it, don't say it, don't you dare…_

Something warm trickles onto my fingers and pools in my hand. I clench my fists tighter…

 _Tighter… tighter… more wetness…_

Silvester Lush opens the slip and takes up his spot in the center again. He leans forward to speak something into the microphone. The whole square is holding its breath. Standing there, waiting for it, wishing it wasn't them…

"Castor Dean Heyme!"

I release my tense fists. They hang loose my my side. Red liquid drips from my palm to the ground. My wish has been answered: it isn't Dylan. It isn't anyone I care about. And I'm fine with that.

I just wish I reworded my wish differently.

It was me.

Dylan is rigid, he glares at the escort as if that will make him reconsider. His eyes, they hold disbelief behind that glare. For once my friend is powerless to fix something. I know he hates it because I hate it too. It's one of the many things that makes us close. He hates it when he can't figure something out or make something right. Just like now. Just like this.

Unless…

"Don't, Dylan," I order, anger flashing across my face. "No, you do not do that."

My best friend turns his head. I can tell his teeth are clenched. He looks ready for a fight.

"Don't you dare do it," I whisper before turning around and walking to the aisle. I step out of the boys' section and face the stage. Blinking in tears, I inhale and force my feet forward. One step at a time, that's all I need to worry about; getting one foot in front of the other. I got this…

Tears blur my vision. I hold them in as I walk up the steps. Strangely, they're not for me. They are for my father, who has to live alone now having lost everything he holds dear. First mom, then me. How does this man cope? How can he not shatter?He's strong, part of me answers. And so I have to be too.

My next thought is: Dylan. The tears are for him as well. I will never see him again unless, by some miracle, I manage to outlive twenty-three others—including this cold female on the stage with me. Something tells me she's hiding something behind that innocent name of hers. On stage I plant my feet on the wood planks and wait for something to happen. My vision swims in the tears I'm holding in, like a river hitting a dam. Soon that dam will break, but not now. Not now. Be strong.

I look in the direction of my friend and shake my head. I don't want him to replace me in this. He has a little sister—only five—that needs him. His has his mother and father that support him, despite being consumed by poverty. I only have my father and although he has lost me now, he will have Dylan and his family to help him through.

 _No,_ I say in my mind, trying to convey that with my head. I can stand myself going, but not Dylan. If I go, I die. If he goes, he dies and his family and I have to live without him.

Silvester continues the reaping and my shoulders relax. No one can volunteer anymore. Dylan's finally safe. The escort makes us shake hands and I close my eyes briefly, drying my eyes somewhat, before turning to face the girl. Magenta Rosewood. That name would suit a smaller girl with a harmless appearance and happy aura. It doesn't fit well with the Volunteer, from her cold, angry tone to her tough, confident posture.

I hold out my hand automatically and look into her eyes. They hold… pity. Pity? And she offers a smile. My brain can't put together the cold, drawling voice with the smile. It just doesn't go right, like I'm trying to force two puzzle pieces the match when they're really from different puzzles.

So I ignore it. I don't care if she really is a nice girl that wants an alliance, I make up my mind: If someone is in the way of me coming back home, I take them out. I am coming back to District Six! I can win, so I will. And I will tear down everything and anything that will stop me from seeing my friends and family again. Just wait and see.

The Reaping ends and the girl and I are shoved into the Justice Building. One hour for visitors, then it's off to the Capital.

I am locked in a room by a Peacekeeper. Alone. Alone with my thoughts and my defiance.

I sit and wait.

The room is better kept than most of District Six. The two chairs are carved from dark oak and so is the table that stands in between. From where I sit on the plush, blue velvet I can see pictures of the many mayors and presidents hanging on the wall. There are some victors, but by now they are long since dead. I hope I can have my picture on the wall. Then, I would be Victor! I would win these Games and come back home. I'd embrace my father, hug my best friend, finally kiss Sera after all these years. I'd have a good life, I would be something Six can be proud of. They have been long overdue a victor and this will be the year. Six will finally win again!

If only…

I begin to feel restless and I stand, moving towards the window. From it I can see the railroad tracks, leading the train straight to us. Part of me wishes it never comes, while the other part… well, I can never back away from a challenge. The tracks soon become boring and I move on to studying the pictures of mayors and presidents that line the walls. The longer I scan the faces the angrier I get until I spin on my heel to face the other way. I don't see the portraits anymore and the fury dissipates, leaving sadness in its place.

I move to the door and twist the knob, pulling the wood toward me. I have a few seconds to look around before the Peacekeeper guard notices what I did.

"Nice try, kid," he growls before yanking the door shut. Startled by the sudden motion, I let the door close, staring at it. The dam is so near breaking—the river straining to be free—that I don't bother try to hold it in anymore. My forehead touches the door and the river finally spills out. It's broken.

 _Damn you, Panem!_

A knock vibrates the door and I hastily stumble back, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. The knob twists and in comes my father. I cast all thoughts aside and sink into his warm embrace. His strong arms from working in the factory hold me tight. Too soon he pulls back a little and meets my eyes. He's silent. I feel like I should fill it.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I say.

"What for?" Good question. Why did I say that? I didn't volunteer, so this isn't my own choice. He chuckles a little. I study the wood planks below me. "Castor, look at me. You are going to fight in there, y'hear me? You will get out of there and come back to me, alright?"

His voice rises and I know he so badly wants the Capitol to drown in all their cruelty. I glance up at my dad's blue eyes, so different from my green ones. His are bright, mine are probably dark with fear. Suddenly, with one quick motion, he takes off something from around his neck and slips it over my head. I look down where the pendant rests on my chest and instantly know what it is.

The locket used to be my mother's, then she died and my father took it up as a reminder. A token of their love. And now he is giving it to me just before I go. I feel like I shouldn't be wearing it. What if I lose it in the Arena? The only reminder of my mother, gone, forgotten a million miles away. What then? Light glints somberly off the dull surface, the shine washed away after so many years. I finger the silver oval and look inside. Two pictures grin up at me and I give a slight smile back, directing my gaze up.

"Thanks," I whisper, tucking it into my shirt for safety. He nods, looking me over. I am painfully reminded again how short my life can be.

"Promise me one thing," he says.

"Dad, I'm going to die. How would—" I begin only to be cut off.

"Castor." There was a firm edge to his voice, saying he won't take 'no' as an answer. "Promise me you'll fight. Promise me you will get passed the bloodbath. Try as hard as you can to come home, but…" he trails off, his gaze wandering. "If you can't make it, I'll still be proud. You have skills, you know how to handle a knife, you're smart. Show them—show everyone—that it's high time our district has a victor."

I nod and hug him again. "I promise, Dad."

I promise, I promise, I promise.

It is so easy to say that.

The door swings open and the guard leans in. "Time's up!"

"I love you, Castor Dean," my dad says before patting my shoulder and turning to walk away. He takes the knob and pulls the door halfway. Pausing, his gaze locks with mine. Last chance, Cas, last chance to say it.

"I love you too, Dad," I say. He smiles. The door closes. I am alone.

Dylan. Where is he? Already half an hour has passed since I was shoved in this room. I begin to worry. It isn't like Dylan to bale on the last minute without an explanation. He's straightforward and direct about most things, so why is he not here?

Five minutes tick by. Then ten. Soon there is only fifteen minutes left until it's goodbye for what will probably be forever…

Unless I keep to my promise I made with Dad…

I sit down on one of the plush velvet seats. It is more comfortable than I would like to let on. The portraits on the wall stare at me and I turn to face the other way.

My minds races trying to figure out why my best friend isn't here when the door creaks open and… in he comes. Immediately I jump out of my seat.

"Hey," he says in greeting. "Sorry I couldn't come earlier."

"Why?" It came out harsher than I meant. I bite my lip, not wanting our last moments together to be an argument. He seemed to have the same idea, for he gave a weak smile.

"I had something to get," he said. "For you."

I blink. _What am I supposed to say?_ My father already gave me something and a tribute was only allowed one token. How can I choose between them?

For the first time in years, we have an awkward silence between us. I move forward and wrap my arms around him to show how much he means to me, he does the same after a moment of surprise. It's not a bad way to spend the last time you have in your home.

After a while we simultaneously pull out. I breath out and Dylan rummages in his pockets before pulling out something sleek and black. At a closer look, I notice the white face, the dark hands, the gentle ticking. He places it in my palm and my eyes shift downwards where the watch rests in my hands. There are a few scratches on the leather band and some are spelling out initials: D.S. It suddenly strikes me.

"This is... yours?" I ask.

He nods and says with a sad smirk, "Thought your need was greater than mine."

I open my mouth to interject, but he keeps on going.

"I know it won't work in... there, but just... keep it as a reminder." His brown eyes dart around nervously, scanning my face. "A reminder of the district. And-and the people, like... your dad."

I let out a small laugh. "And you?" I say with a smirk.

Dylan scratches the back of his neck, "Um, yeah. If you want it too..."

He blinks, then breaks into a sad smile. It's the little things like that that make me forget everything momentarily.

"Of course I want it to…" I say quietly. I wrap the watch around my wrist and follow the thin hand tick away the seconds. Without a second thought, I reach over and hug Dylan once more.

There are things I won't miss about District Six: the crime, the poverty, the previous lack of victors. But there are some things I will miss more than anything at all: the garage, the wild a hundred yards past the fence, my dad, and my best friend Dylan.

I hope I can come back. My time here isn't over. Like the other tributes, I had my future in front of me. And now? Let's see.

I'm ready to play the game. And try not to feel like I lost the brother I never.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hello everyone, TARDIS Traveller here! I am the writer of Castor Dean Heyme, male tribute of District Six. So glad to be part of this, and happy that this story is finally taking form. It's my first ever Hunger Games 24-by-24 story. Hope you enjoy my one-twenty-fourth part in this. Read on!_**

 ** _And now this is Celtic! So an update, we got the rest of Alana's chapter from GenuineHarajukuDoll and I updated it. If you read and enjoyed, leave a review! Now we're starting to gain momentum!_**


	11. District 7 Reapings

_**Author's Note: Hi there! I'm HogwartsDreamer113, also known as Dreamer! I am the author of the boy from Seven, Rocco Fritz. I hope you enjoy. :)**_

 _ **A Second Author's Note: I (Fin) also hope you enjoy Ofelia and Rocco!**_

 _Ofelia Velazquez, District Seven Female- InfiniteFinity_

Some days I wake up and I still wonder why the house feels so empty, so much colder and distanced from the happiness that I remember in my first ten years of life. And then I look around at the walls of the room that my sister and I share, the room that used to belong to the sweetest person who ever existed.

His name was Danilo.

Claudia's memories of him are dim and fading every day, and Paz's are full of naivety and lack of understanding. But mine are vivid, pure. I was only ten, but I remember seeing him sometimes have a look in his eyes that was so sad, so hopeless, for just a brief second, before he carried on smiling for the sake of others. He was my role model, the person I aspired to and still aspire to be. I wish I could make him see himself how I see him still.

Every morning of the reaping since the world's loss of the kindest guy, I've thought about what he used to say on his reaping days. Even when he was young, only twelve, he would smile at me and say, "It's okay. Nobody wants to reap me. They can't pronounce my name. Nobody seems to be able to pronounce any of ours."

I knew that that wasn't how it worked, but my brother's smile and gentle words never failed to make me feel a little better. He was right, too. Everyone says my name like "Ophelia." Everyone calls Paz "pazz." People call Claudia "claw-dee-uh." People would pronounce Danilo "Danny-lo." It's "oh-fay-lee-uh," "paw-ss," "clowd-ee-uh."

It was "dah-nee-lo." His name was Danilo.

So every day on the morning of the reaping, sometime throughout the day I'll think, _They can't reap me. "Ophelia Valez-cwez" doesn't exist._

Maybe I don't feel like Ofelia today anyway. Maybe today is a Lito day. It's not. And just because I'm feeling masculine one day doesn't stop me from being in the reaping. But still.

This is my third reaping. Most people are used to it by now, I think. Maybe they just pretend to be, because that's what I'm going to do. It's Paz's first reaping and I don't want to scare him by acting scared myself. As the oldest sibling in the family anymore, I feel obligated to be brave. I know my parents can do that for all of us, but I just feel like it would be easiest on them if I helped out. Maybe being brave will even affect them.

I get up out of bed after reluctantly pushing the blankets off of me and feeling the coolness of the house around me. I rub my arms to warm them up as I leave my room and head for the bathroom to use it and brush my teeth and everything before the reaping. After that I leave the bathroom and start to head back to my bedroom when, while rubbing my eyes, I bump into Claudia as she comes out of our room.

"Oh, hey, Claud," I say sleepily, smiling at her a little bit. "Morning."

"Morning, Fey." She moves past me, her eyes barely open, heading toward our parents' bedroom. I watch her knock on the door and hear her being called to enter. She's probably going to go sit in their bed and curl up under their blankets, which she seems to find comforting most of the time.

I go to my room and grab what I decided I would wear to the reaping the other day. It's a nice red shirt and black dress pants, with nice black shoes. It's not the best outfit in the world, but it's good enough. Reaping clothes can be expensive. I'm proud to say I bought the shirt and the shoes of this outfit myself, though.

Since I was young I've been using an axe. My mother is also a lumberjack and my father a paper-maker. My mother taught me how to use an axe a long time ago so I would be good at it and able to take up that job when I was old enough to have one. Now that I'm old enough, I bring in money to help my mother and father. Paper-making is much different and the age they usually let you join is younger, so my brother, Paz, has been doing that for a year, although only every once in a while, when things get tough. My parents use their money to buy important things, and I use mine to help and, when I have extra, get things I want or that my siblings want, like my reaping outfit.

I put on my reaping outfit and then go out to the kitchen to make something for breakfast. My father is already in there cooking and dressed for the reaping. Maybe he got up early.

"Morning, Fey," he says as I sit down at the little table we have in the kitchen.

"Morning," I reply as Dad continues cooking. It looks like he's making some kind of soup. It smells good. Reaping breakfasts are always good. I don't know why my parents do that. "I'm so tired."

"How late did you stay up last night?" he asks me as I yawn, sending a glance my way.

I shrug a little bit. I honestly don't remember what time it was when I fell asleep. I was zoning and in and out of sleep for a long time. "I didn't sleep well, though," I tell him.

He nods understandingly. For a long time after my brother died, I had nightmares about it. I was the one that found him in his bedroom. It was awful. I jumped when I first saw him and at any funeral I've ever been to, I always jump at the sight of the body. Bodies scare me.

It wasn't that, though. I let him think it was because I don't want to talk about it and I know he won't ask if he thinks it was one of those nightmares again. Occasionally I still have them and they're all pretty similar. I talk about them when I need to and my parents know that. Sometimes talking doesn't help me.

My mom comes into the kitchen. She's dressed up for the reaping but she looks like shit. I think she might be getting sick. She's been getting paler since yesterday and she's had a cough that has been worsening for a while. It worries me. Depending on how bad the sickness is, there could be potentially no way we could afford to get her proper help. We all try to stay as healthy as possible.

I sigh a little bit and run a hand through my short hair. I like the way it is, short but full on the top and thinner on the sides. It fits both sides of me. Longer hair would make me feel uncomfortable on a Lito day, but short hair still feels cool on an Ofelia day like today.

Claudia comes out of our parents' bedroom and into the kitchen and comes over to me. She pulls the chair next to me close to mine and sits, leaning against me. I wrap my arm around my little sister. "Are you sleepy, Claud?" I ask her softly. She nods, her eyes already shutting as we all listen to the sounds of my father cooking breakfast. When it's finished, he sets bowls of the soup at all the places on the table. Two places are empty instead of one today.

"Where's Paz?" Mom asks before she starts to eat, looking around for my brother.

I take my arm from around Claudia and stand up. "I'll go find him," I say.

I go into the house, my fingers lightly tracing the walls. It's kind of cold. I wish my shirt was long-sleeved.

I look at the walls. There are a few pictures on the hanging on the walls. The paint is fading and the bright smiles of the pictures are a stark contrast to the gloominess of the dark hallway with dimming paint. There's a picture down at the end of Danilo.

I go to Paz's room and knock on the door. "Paz," I say when he doesn't open the door. I knock again. No answer. Frowning, I announce, "I'm coming in," and then I open the door and step into the room. I find Paz lying there on the bed, having fallen asleep.

I go over to him and nudge him lightly. He's always been small, despite being amazing at baseball and practicing whenever he can. He finds refuge in the sport, refuge from the difficulty of his life—what with our financial issues, loss of Danilo, and his dyslexia—and from the idiots that bully him.

I think I might be regarded higher in the community if people didn't know me to pick fights so often. I can't help it. You don't pick on my little siblings.

I don't know if Danilo was picked on much, but I think he was a little bit. It disgusts me. I don't get how people don't understand what that stuff does to a person. Admittedly, I'm a really judgmental person, but I keep it to myself. _What if their words caused an impact? What if they saw how devastated my parents were when he died? What if the people who said shit to Danilo saw how dramatically that impacted my life?_

I shouldn't think like this, but on days like this—the reaping—I can't help but let my mind wander to the worst things.

* * *

 _Rocco Fritz, District 7 Male- HogwartsDreamer113_

For the first time in a long time, I wake up on my own to sun trying to stretch its way into my room through the curtains. I yawn, taking time to stretch my arms and blink sleep out of my eyes. Across, the room, my little brother, Ryland, snores quietly, his mouth hanging half open. I decide to let him sleep. The reaping isn't until eleven-thirty, and glancing at the clock, I see we still have two hours to go. He can sleep in a half hour more. There's no harm in it. After all, there is no school or work today. Normally, even on weekends, Mom makes sure we're awake by eight-thirty. Reaping Day, while terrible in every other sense, is the one exception to that rule.

I slip out of bed and creep over the hardwood floor, careful not to wake Ryland. In the tiny kitchen down the hall, Mom stands at the stove making oatmeal, while Dad drinks his tea at the table.

"Morning," I say, sitting down besides Dad.

"Morning," Dad replies.

Mom turns to face me. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "Fine, thanks."

Mom smiles warmly before setting out bowls of oatmeal and spoons. I half-heartedly begin to eat. Oatmeal may be boring and bland, but we can't afford much else. We're lucky we can even eat full meals at all.

After about twenty minutes, Mom goes to the back bedroom to wake up Ryland. Shortly after my eleven-year-old brother bonds out of the room. His eyes light up when he sees Dad and I.

"Daddy!" Ryland hugs Dad before turning his attention to me. "Rocco!"

Ryland's slender arms wrap around my midsection, and he gazes up at me with the utmost affection. Born when I was five-years-old, Ryland was unexpected, but our parents chose to love him from the beginning. However, from the moment he was born, it was clear Ryland was not a normal little boy. He was born with a flatter face than most babies, along with a smaller head and shorter neck. He has upward slanted eyes and small ears. His hands are broad and short, and he has a single cease on each palm. He was average size at birth, but his development has been slow, taking twice as long as other babies to reach milestones such as sitting and crawling. Since then, Ryland has been mentally disabled, and has had trouble learning in school. My parents have never been sure what is wrong with him. None of the healers or doctors in Seven could tell them. Yet, Ryland is the sweetest kid I've ever met, and we wouldn't trade the world for him.

I smile affectionately at my little brother. "Hey, buddy."

Ryland grins a clings on to me, not letting go until Mom brings his breakfast to the table. After breakfast, the whole family dresses in our best clothes, simple dress shirts and plain black pants. We start out walking to the square together before I branch off to meet my girlfriend, Zee.

Zee waits for me outside her home, the rest of her family already at the reaping. She is wearing a grey suit with a red bow tie around her neck and a second bow in her short dark brown hair. Her blue eyes light up when she sees me. She gets to her feet and kisses my cheek.

"Ready?" Zee asks. I nod, taking her hand.

"After the reaping we should do something fun," I say.

Zee smiles. "Yeah? Like what?"

I grin. "Whatever you want, beautiful."

We arrive at the square within minutes and stand in line to have our fingers pricked. As we wait, Zee lets out a sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's silly."

I frown. "No, it's not. If something is bothering you, I want to know."

Zee hesitates . "It's just… I hate how they separate us into male and female. There are more options than just that."

I gently place my hand on the same of her back. Zee is a demigirl, which, as she explained to me, means she only partially, not wholly identifies with being female. Most days, Zee feels feminine, but others, she feels more gender neutral. As a result, she uses the pronouns she or they, and is pretty lenient of what people call her between the two. For simplicity's sake, we both agreed I should call her my girlfriend.

"I know," I say softly. "Maybe that will change someday."

Zee sighs. "Yeah, and maybe we won't even have the hold the reapings at all."

We reach the front of the line and are forced to break away. I find the sixteen-year-old male section and search for my best friend, Kristoff. I spot him quickly, since he's waving wildly at me.

"Hey! What took you so long? Making out with Zee?"

I grin. "Yeah, totally. We were almost naked when we realized we had to go," I say jokingly. "We're still on time though. It's 11:25."

"Yeah, well, I've been here for almost fifteen minutes. You know my parents. They're so scared of being late."

"True," I reply. Kristoff's parents are two of the most paranoid people I have ever met. It's a wonder how Kristoff ended up with such a joking nature.

Eventually, the escort, Verity, comes to the stage, standing tall and proud. She plays the national anthem and shows the same video that has been played every year for one hundred years. I continue whispering to Kristoff, because the peacekeepers aren't really paying much attention to such small details. Most people don't care and aren't paying attention anyway, but one boy a few rows ahead of me turns around to glare at me. I ignore him.

"I'll start with the girls," Verity says, reaching into the bowl. _Not Breezy Wayne_ , I think, _anyone but my girlfriend._

Thankfully, the name isn't Breezy Wayne. It's Ofelia Valezquez.

"Now for the boys!" Verity draws a second name. She takes her time, but I wish she'd hurry up. I want to get out of here.

"Rocco Fritz."

I freeze. No. Not like that. I can't have been reaped. Besides me, Kristoff swears. "Dude, it's you!"

My hands are clammy and my legs seem on the verge of collapsing as I shuffle towards the stage. I almost make it, before I trip over a stair and land on my face. Some people whisper, others laugh, while most remain in a stunned silence. I can feel my face grow warm. Well, I'm the center of attention now, so I might as well take advantage of it instead of seeming like a total loser. I laugh cheerfully before grinning and waving at the crowd. _There. I just turned an awkward moment fun._ If only the circumstances were different.

"Oh… Well that was quite the entrance," says Verity. "Tributes, shake hands."

Ofelia and I shake hands politely. I am then escorted to the justice building, where I wait to say a final goodbye to my loved ones. My family comes in first.

"Rocco!" Ryland says, flinging his arms around me. He was no idea about where I'm about to go, and that I probably won't make it back home to me. "Momma and Daddy said you have to go to the Capitol! Why?"

"I have to pay a game," I say, choosing my words carefully. "If I win, I'll come back home."

Ryland frowns. "You'll win right? I don't want you to be gone. I don't want you to go at all."

"Of course, buddy. I'll win."

Mom seems to be on the verge of tears. "We believe in you, Rocco."

Dad nods. "Do whatever you can to win. Whatever it takes. You're still our son, and we'll love you no matter what."

I nod slightly, biting my lip. Dad is giving me permission to kill. Could I follow through? I'm not sure if I can, but if I want to see my family again, I'm going to have to.

"Here, take Fuzzy, so you're not lonely," Ryland says, handing me his old, raggedy teddy bear. He never leaves the house without it, and for him to give it to me means a lot.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "You may need him."

"No," Ryland says. "You need him more."

"Thanks, bud," I reply, hugging my brother for possibly the last time.

After my family leaves, Kristoff enters. "You can do this, okay?" He says frantically. "Don't give up now."

I shake my head. "Don't worry. I won't."

"Good," Kristoff says. "Remember, be yourself in front of sponsors. You're a likable guy, Rocco. Be as loud and outgoing as you are here, and you'll be fine. Don't forget to show off your skills."

We chat for the rest of his visiting time. It's easier to act as though I am going on a short trip than to say final goodbyes. Soon, he leaves and Zee bursts into the room. Her lips are tightly pursed, a habit she has when she is upset. She climbs onto my lap and buries her head in my shoulder.

"Don't you dare die on me," she says. "Promise?"

We both know I can't promise anything though. Instead, I try to comfort her by stroking her hair. "I don't plan on it," I say softly.

We sit in silence, and my mind starts to wander. Zee and I have been dating for about six months now. I know there is no one else I'd rather be with. Yet, there are still three words I have not said to her. I was just looking for the right time, but now, I have to let them out, in case I never get another chance.

"Zee, I love -"

Zee yanks back suddenly and looks me in the eye with a stern expression.

"No," she snaps, interrupting me. "Don't say it now. Saying it now is like you're giving up. Tell me when you get back."

"Okay," I mumble.

All too soon, Zee is forced to leave me, and I'm left alone to meet my fate.


	12. District 8 Reapings

_**Author's Note: Hi, it's Crystal again (even though I write for neither of these two tributes). Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

 _Violet Summers, District 8 Female- PrimrosesxDandelions_

I stand in front the mirror in my room, twirling the end of my navy cotton dress in between my fingers and fighting back the tears.

I thought that working in the same textile factory that my parents were killed in would put me in the most dangerous position I could be in, but it then I remember this day.

Reaping day.

The day I dread every year.

My thoughts are distracted when my grandmother comes in and tells me it's time to go with that same saddened look on her face. I only nod my head.

I look around to the other victims, studying their expressions: grief, sadness, and most of all, strength.

I get to the section where all the 15 year old girls stand.

I guess the only good thing about this is that my little brother and sister are too young to be a part of any of it.

Honestly, I feel numb. I can feel my knees tremblinb beneath me. Barely able to stand.

Especially when I see the District 8 escort, Thalia Petronus, come upon the stage like nothing is wrong, unlike the rest of us.

"Well, well, well, welcome to the 97th Hunger Games, my petals." I guess that's a nickname she's given us.

Then she's continues on about how this is her favorite district and how she expects great things from us.

The she shakes her head and says, "Alright enough of that. It's time for the fun: drawing tributes!"

Then she tiptoes over to the right bowl and tips the edge of it, saying, "Ladies first."

With excitement, she plucks a name out of the bowl.

I squeeze my eyes shut, praying with everything that I have that it isn't me. I find that it's useless when she says the name, my name.

"Violet Summers."

My eyes go from shut to wide open, and once again I feel numb.

I and slowly make my way to the stage, stunned, as Thalia grabs me by the shoulders and places me center stage, gesturing for everyone to applaud, which barely anyone does.

I can't even breathe. I feel like I'm the only person in the world, alone. With no one to come for me.

I'm not even paying attention very much except when she announces the male tribute's name. "Flax Croppes!"

A boy around my age that is as tall as me comes up to the stage.

Thalia makes another short speech along with the mayor after that. Then, Flax and I shake hands before they take us into the Justice Building.

I'm placed into a small room and start pacing back and forth, waiting for my family to arrive.

Suddenly the door flies open and my grandparents and siblings fly into my arms.

They ask me if I was okay. I try to be strong for them but I can't help but break down.

My little sister comes up to me with something in her hand which I instantly know what it is.

"Here. You should have this in there." She extends the token to me.

It's my mothers necklace, the only thing I have left of either of my parents. I look at the silver chain that has a few charms at the end.

I can feel the tears streaming down my face, but I brush them away, taking her and kissing her head.

Then, the doors swing open once again and a flood of Peacekeepers come in, ordering them to leave. We all lock eyes with each other for what might be the last time before the doors close, leaving me alone again.

* * *

 _Flax Croppes, Disrict 8 Male- superneet1214_

I wake up from a dreamless sleep, the sound of morning birds and the bright light of dawn urging me to open my eyes and face another dull day. I do so begrudgingly, sitting up and pushing the quilt off of my mostly bare legs. My plain grey t-shirt, which I sleep in most every night, is plastered to my back with sweat. It must have been a humid night- not too unusual for summer.

I'm slightly confused as I glance out the dingy window directly to the left of my bed, which is pressed up against the wall. The pale lighting means it's early morning- too late for me to be awake. One of my triplet sisters, Raschel, usually comes in when it's still dark to wake me up for work at the textile mill. Paisley, the last triplet, usually lets me sleep a bit later than them because I can get ready so quickly, but never this late. It doesn't matter that there is no work today- not even if that's because it's the day of the Reaping.

The Reaping, one of the most anticipated days in Panem; whether that be because of excitement or dread; will be taking place today. A boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be drawn from two bowls, which are filled to the brim with slips of paper bearing names, to be placed in the Hunger Games- punishment for two unsuccessful rebellions among the Districts. My sisters and I are fourteen, turning fifteen very soon. All three of us are eligible for the Reaping, a thought that sends shivers down my spine.

Sliding out of bed, I creep to the door, separating my tiny box of a room from the rest of the house, gently pushing it open and stepping into the hall. I glance at the bathroom, directly across from me- the door's wide open and it's completely black inside. No one in there.

I head to the right, passing my parents' room. The door is shut, meaning my mother and step-father are either asleep or in the process of getting ready. Only a few paces ahead is the room my sisters share. The door is cracked open, and I can hear noise from the inside. It sounds like... Crying?

Inching forward, I'm almost to the doorway when Raschel swings the door open. Her black hair, slightly curly like my own dark caramel-colored locks, is combed and pulled into a ponytail with what had to be our real father, Twist's, hairband, which he had kept on his wrist and used in his hair whenever it grew too long. She always wears it in her hair at the Reapings- to have a part of him with her, I guess.

Her eyes, the same dark shade as mine, are tinted red- her cheeks wet with shed tears. She lets out a choked breath, then covers her face and turns to run. I'm not sure how to react, so I simply watch her bare foot vanish as she turns into the kitchen.

Paisley creeps out of the door, letting out a slight yelp as she almost walks into me. I turn to look closely at her- her light toffee hair, similar to mine, hasn't even been finger-combed. Her bottom lip, chapped and cracking, is bleeding slightly as she gnaws on it.

I glance over towards where Raschel had disappeared, opening my mouth to ask about the tears, but my triplet just shakes her head slowly, grabbing one of my hands and gently pulling me down the hallway. I'm confused, mind muddled by sleep and questions.

The two of us enter the dimly lit kitchen. The counter is covered in bowls, wooden utensils, and an assortment of odd spices and breads. At the island in the center, sitting on one of the splintering stools, is Raschel, head buried in her arms. As soon as she sees her, Paisley lets go of my hand and rushes over to our sister. I awkwardly back away, averting my gaze from the two. Even though Paisley led me here, probably to help to comfort her for whatever reason she was upset, I felt awkward seeing Raschel like this. She was never upset like this- the only familiar thing about this situation was her enraged expression.

I head back to my room, getting dressed in a nice shirt and pants. The clothing is uncomfortable, but I know I'll only be in it until we get back home, where we will shake off the grimness of the day with sweet bread and fruit.

By the time I've returned to the kitchen, Mom and Burton, my step-dad, are both nibbling on slices of bread. Raschel and Paisley have both disappeared- they're probably finishing getting ready. I walk over to the island, plop down onto one of the stools, and grab a slice of bread from the loaf in the center. I slowly gnaw on it, despite its bland flavor. Mom smiles slightly at me, a hand on her swollen belly, but she doesn't say anything.

It seems like an eternity before Raschel and Paisley are both in the kitchen, in simple skirts and tucked shirts, and even longer until the small clock on the counter tells us it is time to head for the town square, where the Hall of Justice is located.

We walk down the dingy concrete sidewalk, careful not to step into the rancid pools of rain that rarely evaporate from the cracks and indentations. The air itself feels stuffy, even though the usually ever-present smoke rising from the factories in the distance is nonexistent today.

When we finally reach the town square, Paisley, who had been holding Raschel's hand the whole walk (Raschel had acted reluctant, but I got the feeling it made her feel better) lets go of her triplet and gives me a quick hug, before doing the same to our parents. The adults simply smile sadly at us, Mom whispering words of luck, before vanishing into the crowds of those who are not eligible for the Reaping.

I gulp down the unease rising in my throat. Every year, it becomes worse- us triplets grow older, the stakes heightening. We don't have to take much tesserae, but we take it, nonetheless, and it makes me uneasy.

I head into my line, coffee eyes following my sisters for a few paces before they disappear like our parents. I shuffle along the group of young, teenage boys, wincing when a Capitol worker grabs me roughly by the arm and pricks my forefinger, gripping it tightly to draw more blood as they press it onto a slip of paper.

They immediately let go, leaving me to lap at the stinging digit as I get pushed into the group of boys near the back. I'm surrounded by people from the factories and school, all muttering. Some sound pained, but most are acting like usual teenage boys, bantering back and forth with friends. They hush up as the clock tower, it's imposing figure closeby, tolls the hour. It's time for the Reaping.

From a set of chairs at the back of the stage, our mayor walks up to the mic. He forces an odd smile, glancing between the numerous cameras set up throughout the wide space, before launching into a speech about the purpose of the Hunger Games, filled with stuttering and nervous coughs. When he's done, he glances down at the cards in his hands, fumbling with them for a moment, before looking back up and grinning at us. As he hurries back to his seat, he nods to the side of the stage, from where our mentors appear, followed my applause from all of us. I can't catch a glimpse of them before the mayor gives an untimely introduction to our escort.

Now, as a citizen of District Eight, I understand apparel. I've seen some CRAZY things. But I can never get over the insanity of the Capitolites, especially our escort.

When Thalia Petronus shuffles up to the front, long strands of blood red hair almost tripping her in her matching stilettos, I can hear some of the adults sniggering. She stops in front of the mic, batting her vibrant eyelashes in their direction, and attempts a slight curtsy in her black fur jacket and billowing skirt.

"Well, well, well- welcome to the 97th Hunger Games, my petals!" I furrow my brow slightly at the odd nickname- she seems to come up with a new one each year. She continues to talk about how much she loves District Eight, as usual, and then claps her gloved hands together.

"Alright, enough of that. It's time for the fun- drawing the tributes!"

At this, everyone starts to pay attention. Thalia chuckles, as if she finds our priorities amusing. She approaches one of the two glass bowls, which were wheeled up to the stage during her ramble. Her black lips curl at the tips, and she taps the edge of the right bowl.

"Ladies first," She purrs, red eyes shining in excitement as she plucks a name from the bowl. She unfolds it as quickly as she had chosen it, but hesitates before reading. Slowly looking up, she says in a sing-song voice, "Violet Summers."

I guiltily let out a relieved breath, my shoulders relaxing as a short girl with lovely ebony hair makes her way to the stage. Another year of safety for Paisley and Raschel. Thalia starts an applause, which we all take part in half-heartedly.

Walking away from the stunned girl, the escort heads to the left bowl. Here, I feel a different type of discomfort. It's not fearing for someone else- it is fearing for myself. I suck in a deep breath as Thalia pulls out another name, unfolding it. I look towards the side for females, and can't help but find my sisters, standing next to each other. They both turn, and Raschel's cheeks are marked by tears again, because just a heartbeat later I hear, "Flax Croppes," called out.

I don't even know what to do. The boys around me back off like I've just contracted some disease. I hold eye contact with my sisters for a moment more, before trying to get to the stage. I can feel hundreds of eyes boring into me. It doesn't feel normal- no one ever even casts me a glance, outside of my family. I'm just another factory worker to them. But now I'm more than that. Now I'm some doomed kid.

Up on the stage, it isn't any better. I'm about as tall as Violet, who I don't even make eye contact with. I can see all the cameras angled towards me, working as the Capitol's beady eyes.

Once again, Thalia leads the crowd in brief celebration. Then the mayor gives a quick ending speech, the anthem starts to play, Violet and I shake hands, and then we're pulled away by Peacekeepers to the inside of the Justice Building.

As I'm shoved into a small room, filled with musty furniture and an alarming amount of dust, the tears start to flow. It's pathetic, I know, but I can't control it. Never again will I see my sisters. I'll never be able to have another awkward conversation with Burton about Raschel. I'll never get to meet my half-brother. I'm about to meet a painful, sad end to an incomplete life, for the sake of someone else who fears the same.

Thin frame rattling with choked sobs, I sit down on one of the narrow couches. I bite down on my fist, trying to force back my heaving breaths before my family will come charging through the door. If they see me crying, then they'll know that there's no chance of me coming back, and I don't think I could bear to do that to them. So I force myself to calm down, promising to let myself cry later on the train, as much as I want. My eyes have just started to feel less swollen when Mom, Burton, and my sisters barge in.

The sight of them almost brings tears back. Raschel is crying again, something that is starting to feel normal already. I hope Paisley will take care of her. Paisley herself is biting her lower lip, face ducked slightly as her shoulders heave. Burton looks on the verge of tears as well as he helps Mom, who looks like she might collapse, over to me. She pulls me onto my feet and into a hug, crushing me against her figure, before letting go and pulling my sisters over. Both cling to me with the same vigor. Everyone is rambling, spewing out words of love, encouragement, and all sorts of pleads.

Suddenly, Raschel rips our father's hairband from her ponytail, leaving her black hair falling around her like a cloak. She shoves the small accessory into my palm, swollen, red eyes meeting my own.

"Your token. So you wo- so you can't forget us."

And before I can nod, or assure her that I would never forget them, the Capitol's Peacekeepers are urging them back out of the door.


	13. District 9 Reapings

_Luke "Daisy" Culvious, District 9 Female- Ripple237_

 _Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade no no stop YOU'RE NAME IS LUKE. NO YES you bitch, blood whisper whirl death sling blood splatter headstone scream death outcast whisper._

 _Licks._

 _Sun._

 _Morning._

 _Blade._

 _LUKE._

"NO, my name is Daisy." I awake from the endless night. Dandy is licking my face.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, Dandy." The German Sheppard just curls around me, like a shield.

 _LUKE._

 _LUKE._

 _LUKE..._

The voice in my head dies.

"Thank you Dandy." I whisper to her.

 _Whispers._

 _Whispers._

"No, I have to continue." I stand up and approach the yellow, sickly paper. I begin to write. Most of my writings are on the walls, but now I use paper. I'm not sure where I got it, but it looks similar to dead skin. I stole pencils from a shop a while ago, most are broken.

 _Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade no no stop YOUR NAME IS LUKE. NO YES, blood whisper whirl death sling blood splatter headstone scream death outcast whisper._

I gasp at my writing.

"Dandy, help me." She comes over and licks my hand. I begin to write again.

 _My name is Daisy. Dandy is my only friend. I live in a shack. I like axes. Blood. Blade. Blood. Blood. Pools of blood._

Dandy rests her head on my leg.

I am alone. My father made me a man. I killed him.

My fingers itch. I put down the pencil. People have whispered about me, called me "The Blade." Why? Because they think I killed my father. I did. I killed my father. I was not found guilty. I chopped his head off, but not before I cut off all his limbs. Then I cut myself. I tried to get the hair he would stitch to me off. I only cut skin.

I reach for my axe. Dandy picks it up and carry it out of my reach.

"Good girl." I say.

Ok, I'm in control now. I look at the mess of the paper on the floor. Every morning I write to get the thoughts out of my head and stay clear. Dandy helps. She was being beaten by boys when I found her. The boys ran way.

Boys.

Father wanted me to be a boy.

I hate boys.

I begin to laugh hysterically.

"LETS FIND SOME BOYS AND MUTILATE THEM. YES, THAT WILL BE LOTS OF FUN."

 _No, go away my name is Daisy._

 _Or is it Luke._

 _No._

 _It is. And you are a boy. With that nasty stitched on facial hair._

 _No._

The grey room appears before me. It always does. I start to cry.

"Please just go away!" I scream.

My father's body materializes in front of me. His limbs burst off, and his head turns all the way around to face me. His eyes are white.

"Join me, Daisy. Your flower will die!"

"No please!"

"I am Luke."

"No! You are dead!" I scream.

He lunges towards me and bites my throat.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

I wake up on the floor of the shack. Dandy is whimpering in the corner.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry! It got control again."

My father, and the name he gave me, Luke, have merged together to form my demon. He always wanted a boy. And he would have one. He made me pee while standing up. He made me dress in rooms with other boys. He stitched hair onto me. Cut my hair. Unspeakable things. When he was drunk he would rape me, and then shove me into walls and throw me in the well outside. The Peacekeepers would get me, but not before the people threw things at me. When I got out, the Peacekeepers would beat and rape me. Then my dad would beat me for having sex with a man, because I was "a man."

I curl up. It is the Reaping after all. Another time for people to laugh at me, whisper about me, see my rags. I just tolerate it. It's the best I can do. I flip out once I reach my shack. Of course, Dandy hides, that smart dog. I'm always afraid I will kill her by accident, or the citizens will. I have a few more years of going to the Reaping. But what's next? What will my life become? I go over to Dandy, and cuddle with her. She is all I have left.

If my mother was still here, things would be different. I think. She died as I was born. That only added to the monster that my father became. I heard people say he was nice once. Still, they don't like the way he was killed. And I did it. I feel so broken. I want to be normal, but I lost it, and now a demon with my father's face and my birth name haunt me. I've wanted to kill myself, but Dandy always stops me. I was desperate for something, anything. I was insane, and I guess I still am.

The day I brought Dandy home, and I was about to stab myself, Dandy brought me a Daisy. Since then, I've called myself that. Unfortunately for me, no one else calls me that. Everyone at school, whispers behind my back. Even the little kids, who just don't understand, but just copy everyone else.

One day, I was walking home and 5 boys attacked me. They bashed stones at me. I had my axe up my sleeve though. I watched them cry, and I laughed. After I had calmed down, I was disgusted with myself. I attempted suicide again. Dandy stopped me again. Sometimes I wonder if she is an angel, sent to protect me from the demon inside me. Whatever it is, this demon is breaking me.

I've always been skilled with axes. One day I tried to use them, and I was a natural. Is this talent my demon egging me on? I don't know anymore. But, if I get sent into the Games, I'm scared for the tributes, because Luke will take over. I know it. I can't go into the Games. If I do, the fragments left inside me will shatter.

The Reaping approaches. I can't go. I just can't. I won't be chosen. It's impossible. A horrible thought strikes me. What if Luke makes me volunteer? It could be the end of everything. And Dandy will die. The people will kill her. I'm sure.

"Dandy, come here." I say. She comes over wagging her tail.

"Sweetie, I love you so much. You're the only thing keeping me going. I promise I'll be home soon."

I hug her, and she puts her head on my shoulder.

"I love sweetie." The tears come.

"I'll see you soon, my angel."

She looks after me as I exit the shack.

I can't look back.

* * *

The walk to the Square always seems like the hardest. The feeling that you get is awful. You know you have to go, and you want to get it over with, but you have to walk. You have to walk all the way to the Town Square. I wish Dandy could walk with me, but they will only take her away from me.

People walk on either side of the street. I walk in the middle, so naturally, they avoid me. I can already hear their whispers.

 _Whispers._

I shake my head to clear it. The whispers are growing louder.

"She's shaking her head again."

"What a freak."

"We should just kill her."

"Or we can hope she is reaped."

These people are terrible. Don't they know they are just making it worse? Of course not. I can already feel…

I hunch my back, and let out a cry. The people start to whisper again. Some take off down the street.

Oh, they are not going anywhere. I'm going to cut their arms off, then their legs, and slowly cut and carve their bodies into something worth looking at.

"NO!" I yell.

"BLADE! JUST GO BACK TO YOUR HOLE AND DIE!" a boy shouts. My fingers twitch.

"No." I whimper.

 _Yes._

I run like a bullet over to the boy.

 _LETS'S MAKE THIS ASSHOLE SUFFER!_

Just as I tackle him, a Peacekeeper grabs me.

"This is Reaping Day! That will be 10 lashes." He says. A grin lights his face.

"I'll make it 25. It won't hurt. Much."

 _HE DIES NOW!_

I regain control at a very fortunate time.

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"Quit you're yapping and go!" he shouts.

I rush over to identification and get into the 16 year-old's section. The Reaping is about to begin.

The escort walks onstage, and I am disgusted again. He calls himself Helier Wen, and his hair and everything is atrocious. I look away in disgust. I block him, and everything else out, until I hear him utter those words. I snap to attention. He has just reached into the girl's reaping bowl. My dad tried to get my name in the boys, but they didn't allow him. He was furious, and raged for months.

Wen pulls out a name and reads it into the microphone. It won't be me. I'll see Dandy again soon.

"Luke Culvious!" he says. Dammit. I start to walk up.

 _My poor Dandy. I have to get home to her._

 _Sure, sure, but first we get to kill 23 kids! Oh I'm so excited._

 _No, not now, please not now._ I begin to shake and twitch, hunching over. The crowd is whispering again. I shake harder.

"Go to hell, Blade!" Someone from the crowd shouts.

I reach the stairs and stand there. Trying to keep it inside. The boy, Troy Nooly, stands next to me in no time. Everything is a buzz. Wen looks at us expectantly. It must be time to shake.

 _Ok, we'll shake, but let's kill this bitch first!_

I reach for Wen's throat. Just as he starts to panic, Troy grabs my hand, and shakes it. I am grateful for his help, but I'm afraid to say anything. I might say something I would regret.

 _Goodbye Dandy. I promise I will get home._

 _Oh not yet, we have some very nice slaughtering to do first._

* * *

 _Troy Nooly, District 9 Male-_

"What if it's me?"

"It's not gonna be you."

The straw rustles as he props himself up on his elbow.

"But what if it is? I may look big and strong, but you know on the inside I am not a fighter. I wouldn't stand a chance against the Careers!"

I have never seen Alixander this agitated. Even in the dim light of the lantern I can see his wide frame is shaking and his eyes are wide open. I grab a hold of his shoulders, so strong from working in the fields, and gently turn him so he has to look at me.

"It won't be you, I promise. Don't ask me how I know, I've just... got a good feeling this time."

"For real?"

"For real."

I kiss him, and feel his tense muscles start to relax. But then he pulls away again.

"But it's going to be someone."

"Maybe it's your asshole of a brother this time," I joke.

"Heh. No, I'm not that lucky. And it wouldn't matter, he's strong as a bull, and just as stubborn. He would go ahead and win the Games, just so he can go on beating me," he says bitterly, and involuntarily rubs the place on his arm where a bruise has appeared only today.

I know he is right. Bant is huge, a lot larger than Alix and maybe four times my weight. He's also eighteen, which means this year is the last time he will be in the reaping pool. Alix and I still have three more years to go.

I couldn't imagine a life without him. Something clenches painfully in my chest when I think of what would happen if Alix's name really was pulled from that glass ball. He is everything to me. Maybe I would even volunteer…

"Please don't look so gloomy. Let's not talk about the reaping anymore, okay? We've only got a few hours left until dawn."

I nod in agreement, and pull him close to me. The softness of the straw and the warmth emanating from his body make me realize how tired I am, and I begin to drift off into sleep.

"I love you, Troy," he whispers.

"Love you too," I mumble into his hair.

When I wake again, the early light of dawn is already beginning to seep in through the cracks in the old barn's walls. The lantern is almost out of oil, but the wick is still fighting to keep its flame going. _Brave little wick._ As I watch, the flame finally goes out, leaving behind only a thin line of smoke.

Time to leave. I shake Alix awake, and we share one last sweet kiss.

The first rays of Reaping Day are creeping across the endless wheat fields as we sneak back into our homes.

"One of these days you are going to tell me who you are staying out all night for."

I had made every effort to be quiet as I snuck inside, but she caught me anyway. She is standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She's not angry, just looking at me with that intense gaze of hers. She pulls her bathrobe tight around herself.

The living room is a mess of colorful fabric, ribbons, and flowers. It looks like she has been up all night, sewing my and my sisters' costumes for the harvest dance. The rest of the house is still asleep, even the baby is snoozing peacefully on a pile of rags on the couch.

"Mom, what are you doing, the dance is still a couple of months away."

"Oh honey, you know I never sleep the night before the Reaping. I've given up on that years ago. When you're a child you may be scared half out of your mind, but once you have children of your own, it's so much worse..."

Her voice sounds thick, and I see there are deep shadows under her eyes. Six children are a lot to worry about. And soon, grandchildren. Thankfully, so far our family has always been spared. She smiles at me, but it's a little sad.

"Well, at least your father is always too tired from work to lose any sleep over this. I don't know how he does it anyway, two jobs and all. Help me make breakfast?"

Mom puts on a pot of coffee and starts preparing some cupcakes we will eat while we watch an old movie and wait for the ceremony to begin, and I cook the oatmeal and set the table. We work in silence. I am glad she didn't pressure me to tell her who my boyfriend is. I vow to tell her one of these days, but for now I need to keep it a secret for his sake.

The twins are the first to join us. I hear a patter of footsteps and all of a sudden the kitchen is filled with long, flowing hair and giggles. Their chattering wakes up the baby, but they are too busy braiding each others' hair to bother with the little one. Thankfully by now my second-youngest sister, Kaya, has come downstairs as well and picks her up right away. Kaya is almost fourteen now, and only a couple of inches shorter than me. She and I are very similar in appearance; we both have the same slender build, honey-colored skin, and almond eyes, while my other sisters have roundish eyes and lighter skin, like my father. Kaya is also the only one who comes close to my talent as a dancer, in fact if she keeps on working as hard as she does I think she will surpass me some day. But where I put my whole heart into it, dance for the pure enjoyment of it, she takes it totally seriously, and is always aiming for nothing less than perfection.

I love when our little kitchen is noisy and crowded like this, but it still feels weird to me to not have Tanaya around, my oldest sister who moved out and into her own place with her husband six months ago. We will see them both at the Reaping of course; everyone in District 9 is going to be there.

The Town Square is crammed with hundreds of people, but nobody says a word. Even my irrepressible twin sisters have gone silent for once. Kaya is standing a few rows farther back with her back completely straight, her head held high. Our parents are not far away, looking on with solemn faces. I also have spied Tayana in the crowd to my left with her husband, covering her rounded belly with her hands as if to shield the unborn child from the danger to come.

The mayor and the previous Victors from District 9 (only two of them are still alive) have already taken their places on the stage, but the escort is still missing. I risk a quick look at Alix. He is standing a little ways to my right, surrounded by some boys he often hangs out with at school. He looks so pale, and my heart goes out to him. I wish so hard I could be closer to him, to at least hold his hand. But his family would throw him out if they knew, or worse. I see his brother standing with the oldest boys way up front. Their parents must be here too, in the crowd somewhere.

Finally Helier Wen arrives, the escort from the Capitol. He looks flustered and keeps rubbing his nose. The weird apple-green lump of hair on his head is shaped like a nest, and it reminds me of a strange and nervous bird. His face is very pale, and his eyes are so cold and devoid of color they look like they are made of glass. His skinny legs are sticking in plateaued shoes, but he still is so short he has to pull the microphone down to him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Reaping ceremony of the 97th annual Hunger Games."

Even his voice is thin and airy, like it might fly away any moment. His gaze sweeps the crowd indifferently as the movie about the two rebellions and the history of the Hunger Games plays on the big screen behind him. It is followed by a long moment of silence, until the mayor clears his throat loudly, reminding Wen he has a job to do.

"Well, let us begin. May the odds be ever in your favor."

He says it in such a flat tone of voice I want to slap him. Our very lives are at stake here, and he's acting like this is all very boring to him. Slowly he walks over to the bowl with the girls' names and pulls out a slip of paper from the very top. It takes him several seconds of awkward fumbling to unfold the paper, and then he finally reads out the name.

"Luke Culvious."

I breathe a sigh of relief. It's not one of my sisters, thank heavens. Tonight we will celebrate, all of us together.

Now someone is pushing forward through the crowd. I see a head covered with thick dark hair and a face that's… covered with more dark hair. Now I remember where I have heard that name. That girl is an outcast, orphaned, living in the streets, fighting to survive. People tell lots of stories about her; some are contradictory, but none of them are nice. As she slowly but steadily shuffles to the front, there are jeers and catcalls from the crowd, and somebody cries out, "Go to hell, Blade!"

Everybody, the mayor, the mentors, especially the escort, seem to shy away from her when she comes onto the stage. She just stands there, wordlessly, staring at us with eyes that are hidden behind a thick veil of hair. Wen casts nervous glances at her as he asks for any volunteers. There are none, not surprisingly.

Now Wen, visibly in a hurry to get the ceremony over with, proceeds to the other glass container. All the boys around me tense even more as Wen reaches into the bowl. I look over at Alix once more, and see that he and his buddies have gathered together and have put their arms around each others shoulders like a sports team prepping for an important game. For a split second he meets my gaze, then looks back toward the stage. I keep staring straight at him, willing him to look at me, so I could at least communicate with him with my eyes. But he stays still as a statue. I see the arms on his shoulder tighten as a rustle of paper echoes through the speakers.

"Troy Nooly."

Just for a moment I wonder why somebody called my name. A heartbeat later the realization catches up with me and my stomach drops right out of my body. I was right, after all. It's not Alix. It's me. I've been reaped.

My feet start to move on their own, carrying me toward the stage. I am used to having everyone's eyes on me, but this is very different. Instead of dancing for the enjoyment of my audience, I will soon be bleeding for the Capitol's entertainment. My knees shake a little as I ascend the steps to the podium. The escort gives me a very weak smile and quickly herds me to the front of the stage.

"Are there any volunteers?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone in the crowd start to move It's Alix, and he is still not looking at me, his eyes are fixed straight ahead. Oh no. He has shaken off his surprised friends' arms and is walking forward stubbornly. Now he is almost at the edge of the roped area. He opens his mouth.

"I vo-"

His older brother grabs Alix from behind and yanks him back roughly, one hand clamped over his mouth like a vice, smothering his words. Alix struggles against his brother's grip, but Brant is way too strong for him. As he drags him backwards into the crowd, Brant shoots me a murderous look. And I don't even mind; instead I will be forever grateful to him. For he just saved his brother's life, and we both know it.

Suddenly I feel very, very queasy. One of the mentors, Omri Rice, quickly places a steadying hand on my shoulder, which makes me feel a little better. I've never had a big brother, only sisters, but I imagine this is what it must be like.

The ceremony is almost over now. The escort motions for Luke to come join us at the front of the stage so the two of us can shake hands. I can tell Wen is very nervous, and I too find this girl's presence strangely unsettling.

"Hi," I say. She doesn't respond, just continues to stare at me. Yeah, she is creepy as hell. I don't even want to imagine what it would be like having to face her in battle.

Suddenly, instead of extending her hand to me, her arms reach for Wen as if going for his throat, and the little man shrinks back with a frightened little squeak. I am caught off guard, I don't know what else to do, so I quickly grab a hold of both of her hands and sort of shake them both at the same time. It must look really awkward to the audience, but I guess that is still better than a tribute attacking her escort. I think everyone is relieved when the anthem starts to play, signaling the end of the Reaping ceremony.

I am barely in the room when my sisters burst through the door, closely followed by my parents and my brother-in-law. Kaya and the twins slam into me and hug me so hard it hurts, and a moment later Tayana, Mom, and Dad join in until we're just a big warm hunk of loving family. Everyone is crying, and I too have to fight back tears.

"They can't do this! They just can't!" Kaya sobs into my shoulder. I hug her even harder.

"Hush, my dear, you know they can," my mother says, quietly. "All these years, so many children... We've always known this could happen."

She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes. "But now's not the time to be angry. We only have a few minutes to say goodbye. Everyone, let's try to be brave for your brother's sake, okay?"

I reluctantly pull out of their embrace, brushing away my own tears, but seeing all those miserable faces looking at me somehow makes this even worse than it already is. Even the baby is sensing something is awfully wrong and getting fretful.

Cora makes an effort to cheer me up.

"Hey, at least you are going to get some professional training now. Maybe you'll learn to use a sword and find you're really good at it?"

Ana, her twin, chips in immediately to contradict her.

"Don't be stupid, Troy can't fight! But he's nice and good-looking, so he'll find lots of allies, and sponsors, and-"

"No, you're both wrong!" Kaya interrupts. "Troy is not going to master the sword in a week. And being nice makes you look weak. Making allies is silly anyway. Sooner or later they will have to kill you or you have to kill them. But he does have a chance, because he's quick, and he's agile. He should run away and hide, like climbing a tree or something."

I am deeply touched by their confidence. I wish so badly I could share it.

Suddenly there is a commotion outside. My dad goes to the door to check what is going on, and through the gap I glimpse Alix, screaming and struggling with the guards who are refusing to let him in. Dad, looks at me, confused, then back at Alix.

"Troy, who is this?"

"Alix! Let him in, please let him in!"

My hearts feels like it's being torn apart when I see the pure desperation on his face, as well as the fresh bruise that is blackening his eye. It takes all my self-control not to try to force my way through to him. Now Dad is talking to the guards in that calm yet authoritative teacher's voice of his. They are still pretty young and I think he recognized a couple of his former students. Grudgingly, the peacekeepers finally allow Alix to pass, after threatening to arrest him should he give them any more trouble. He flies into my arms, and I kiss him, hard, on the mouth, answering any questions my family may have had up until now. I hadn't realized how scared I was that they would take me away before I got a chance to see him again one last time. My mom shoos everyone away, to give us just a little privacy.

"I can't lose you, I just can't," he rasps. "If something happens to you, I don't know what I'll do..."

His shoulders are beginning to shake. I want to hug him again, but he won't let me.

"Promise me you'll try."

"What?"

"Promise me that you'll try to win. That you'll do anything it takes. Anything. For me."

"I, I don't think I can-"

"Promise me!"

"I promise," I whisper. And I mean it. At that moment, I know I'd do anything for him. I hold on to this determination and store it deep inside of me. I know I'll be needing it soon enough.

"This is for you. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday."

From his pocket he pulls a thin golden chain with a pendant, carved from dark wood and shaped like a flower. A chrysanthemum.

He slips the chain over my head.

"Thank you."

I gently touch his cheek.

"What did your folks do to you?"

His face goes all hard, and he looks away.

"I'm never going back there," he says, fiercely.

"But where are you going to live?"

"It doesn't matter. Don't worry. I'll be okay."

His flat voice tells me he is anything but. I want to say so many more things to him, but at that moment the door opens abruptly and the guards come in to collect me. My parents protest that the time is not up, and my younger sisters start to cry again loudly. But the uniforms won't listen anymore, they just grab me by the arms and drag me towards the exit.

"Take care of him, will you?" I call over my shoulder. I know it's a lot to ask, taking in another mouth to feed, but so far we've always managed to get by, with just a few tesserae. And now that I will be gone, there will be a spare bedroom…

Mom and Dad both nod solemnly. Then I am through the door, and I can't see them anymore. My sisters' wailing accompanies me all the way down the hallway and the staircase leading directly to the underground train station. I didn't even get to really say goodbye.

Of course, this was just the easy part. The really hard part hasn't even begun yet.


	14. District 10 Reapings

_Paj Hma, District 10 Female- LadyCordeliaStuart_

There isn't anything worse than Reaping Day. It looms over us all year long, and sometimes it's hard to sleep knowing one day it will come. The first two or three months after is a respite, but after that it's always in the back of my mind. And now it's here.

Most days I only play pretend after I'm done with my work, but today I slip into my alter ego as soon as I get out of bed. I wasn't Paj, the happy farm girl, anymore. I was Hlessi, a brown rabbit who knows enemies are everywhere and has to stay alert for danger. I imagine there are foxes under the table and hawks waiting outside the door. It keeps me from thinking about the real danger.

Ma is stirring a pot of porridge as I head out the door. She doesn't say goodbye. I know she's trying to stay strong for all of us, and I tell myself she doesn't say anything because she doesn't need to. I'll be home before long. Pa is more tenderhearted. He presses my head to his chest and I pretend I can't see him crying.

It's a long walk to the Reaping center. There's little cover, and I keep watching the skies for birds. I'm happy when I join the crowd of other children. There's safety in numbers. I stand on my toes and wait for Thyone to come. If she was a rabbit, she'd be dark as the night and her fur would be shiny like stars. Some of the girls around me whisper while she walks onstage. I want to talk, too, but Thyone is from the Capitol. She's part of the Owsla, and I have to listen to her. She introduces herself and the Games.

The girl next to me is crying. I take her hand. "Pretend you're someone else," I whisper. "Like me." She presses close to me like I'm her sister and we wait for Thyone's pick. Her hand hovers over the bowl. If it wasn't real, the peril would be thrilling. She calls my name, and I understand what it is to go tharn. I freeze, like a hunter would stop being able to see me and turn away. My heart beats shallow and quick, and I can't seem to move or think. Someone pulls on my arm and I follow him to the stage. I don't know what's happening, and I feel everyone's eyes on me as stand exposed and alone. I guess a boy joins me, and then I'm caged in a room somewhere.

Ma and Pa come into the room. Ma carries Zaj, who waves his arms but doesn't fuss. He starts to when I run to Ma and squish him as I weep against her. Pa is crying too, and Ma sits me down on the bench. Ma brushes my hair aside. I think she's embracing me, but then I feel something press against my ear. I look at her hand and see a silver earring shaped like a rabbit. She clips it on my other ear.

"I love you," Pa says over and over. He doesn't stop until they leave. Before they go, I manage to say it back to them. It's something we say all the time. Any time I go anywhere, even to bed, he always says it and I always reply. This time it's like a memorial. Peacekeepers come and escort them out, nearly dragging Pa. I would be clinging to him, but I'm still with fear.

All my fantasies are real now. There are predators hiding around every corner. I'm going to have to run and fight for life like an animal. I am the princess of a thousand enemies, and all the world is my enemy.

* * *

 _Carson Durmello, District 10 Male- Dutchess Frost_

I redo the brown buttons on my shirt for the third time. I have been fiddling with the button at the top, by my shirt collar, for the last few minutes- I am too scared to do anything else, and it is annoying me. I straighten my brown, buttoned-down shirt that makes me itch uncomfortably, and dust off my black pants, which are starting to collect dust from the reaping area. I scuff my brown shoes on the dusty ground, but stop myself. No fidgeting. What would my mother say?

I risk a glance behind me towards my parents. I see my father's kind smile and short brown hair. His face is lightly wrinkled and there's a trace of stubble on his chin. My mother, Hylla, on the other hand, looks downright murderous. She is wearing a plaid, dull blue dress with lace. Her blonde hair is done up in a bun, and her arms are crossed over her chest. She looks like she is pondering how to kill me simply by staring me down.

I turn back to face the front along with the other thirteen-year-old boys in my section. They all look just like me, but much taller. At my tiny height, I can barely see over the twelve-year-olds in front of me. But honestly, I don't mind. I flick my hair so it purposely hangs over my forehead, covering my green eyes. Staring down at my shoes, I slowly sway on the spot, waiting until the reaping can be done and over with.

"Welcome!" The District 10 escort pipes excitedly, skipping up to the microphone. I don't bother looking up. What's the point? It's the same speech as every year- and I remember almost all of it. If I would bother to waste my time talking, I could talk alongside the escort without missing a beat.

"Let's select our female tribute!" The escort trills after several announcements. I incline my head slightly. Now I catch a look of the escort- absurd pink hair and large electric blue eyes. I look down again.

"Um... let's see here... Paj Hma!"

I peek up to see a small girl with brown skin and black hair pulled up to the stage. She seems out of it, and I wonder if she's not completely with us.

"Ah, welcome, Paj, good to see you, how old are you, dearie," the escort coos, shooting off a series of questions.

"14," Paj mumbles. I'm surprised- she looks much, much, younger.

Wiithout missing a beat, the escort calls, "The male tribute," and skips over to the glass bowl. I watch the delicate hand pluck a piece of paper from the side of the bowl. I hold my breath. How often is my name in there? Maybe twice?

Yet, with all the bad luck I could have, this is the worst. "Carson Durmello!"

I exhale, trembling in my shoes. Keeping my head down, I trudge out of the line, forcing my legs to move as fast as they can. Keep it together, I think miserably. He is about to be sent to his death.

Staring down at the dusty ground again, I ascend the stairs and now face the shoes of the female tribute, Paj. I slowly look up. She smiles warily at him and sticks out her hand.

Slowly, I shake it. It is warm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes from District 10!" Without waiting for a cheer, our pink-haired escort pushes us offstage. I quickly look behind me to see my parents.

My father's face is a few shades paler. The corners of his mouth are turned down and he looks like he is willing himself not to cry. I can't help but cry as well. I want to run out of the escort's grip and race to my father, but I know I'd never make it, and it would only spell trouble. But my mother makes my stomach plummet.

My mother is grinning.


	15. District 11 Reapings

_Amelia Lock, District 11 female- Kyoko Rose_

As always, I'm awakened by my siblings screaming and shouting at me. I toss my sheets off and slide my legs over the side. Today's reaping day.

As I come down the stairs, I stop for a moment looking around before yelling out, "Is dad up yet?" I get my reply that his still asleep. I frown before heading up to his and mum's room.

As I enter, I look around and see photos of Mum and Dad together.. Before dad was confined to a wheel chair and before Mum passed away. I smile softly as a few tears run down my face.

 _I miss her... a lot..._ I turn away from them and walk towards dad.

"Wake up! It's reaping day dad.." I say to him. I see him wake up and call Henry up. Henry comes over before I leave him to help dress Dad.

Coming down the stairs, I look at all my siblings: Eloise, Elise, Mathew, Benjamin, and Estella. Before going into the kitchen, Benny comes up to me. "Mely, can I help with breakfast?" which causes me to smile.

"Sure Benny." I say.

Before long, we've made breakfast and feed everyone and get dressed. I'm wearing a tight fitting green skirt and a blue T-shirt. I've got heels on...They used to be my mother's.

We line up, waiting. I've always hated this day, and who wouldn't? The day you are chosen to die or to kill. As I stand in line, I look around at my family and fellow district children.

When I hear the intro, I don't pay any attention. Why would I? It's the same old stuff. But when it comes to who is chosen I listen. I would be prepared to offer myself up for others, especially for my sisters. I look over at them one last time before I hear the name of the female tribute. "Elise Emily Lock."

Before that girl, my sister - one of the youngest - can go up, I jump up, "I'll take her place!" I say and a gasp goes around the Town Square. I look around before heading up.

"Your name?" I am asked.

"I am Amelia Jessica Lock, I am seventeen and I am taking the place of my sister, Miss Elise Lock," I say, not looking at my siblings.

I know full well what that means... It means that I will leave them and probably never come back. But it's a risk I will take for my siblings. If I had a choice I would stop the Hunger Games, stop death. But reality is that I can't so I would save my sister once more.

I choke back tears as I look over to the crowd. I see my father, my sick father, looking at me, his eyes full of tears, which doesn't help me. I stand on the stage, waiting for it all to be over.

I am the eldest of 7 children. I have a twin, the most annoying one, and I have to leave him to look after our siblings and father by himself. I'm sure he will get help just like I did, but he will have more as he is more popular. It is true I am not very popular with the town's people.

As I stand there, I think of how I could say sorry. I could just leave a note and not deal with the emotions or I could go through talking with my family, and then I have to choose my only item to take.

Though... I know full well what I will take. It is my favorite thing and it was from my mother. It was the last gift my mother gave me. I know I have one chance at life and I'm leaving it into the hands of strangers. I barely know anyone in my district anyway, but I am well known. I never wanted to be chosen, no one does... well, beside the Career pack, but that's different.

Jessica... the name of my aunt... the aunt that killed herself in my home while I was there. I tried to stop her... but... to no luck. She stood there after she was told she was going to the games she killed herself. They had to get another girl to take her place. I guess she didn't want someone else to take her life. Especially if it was for someone else's had told me to look away but I didn't I saw her stab herself and the blood run from her wound. I held her hand as the life slowly drained from her.

I stand there trying to look brave and not to cry as I see all of my life. The excitement of being a six year old then finding about my siblings as they came. Elise and Eloise are the only ones who were born separately. The younger three are triplets. They're pretty much identical, besides one. If I had a choice I would still keep my family. My only true friend is Ivy Lockheart... And I'll be leaving her.

My hand is pulled up in the air by Bellona Agathe, who's been with District 11 since I could remember. I turn to look at my fellow tribute and take in his appearance. I've seen him around sometimes but not often. But most people never cross my path, anyways.

The reaping is over as I find out who I am going with. He made a commotion before coming up, but that'd be expected right?

I think his name starts with M or N. I don't know.

I never caught his name, but I wish I did...

.

Now comes the time for the visitors. When I see Henry wheel in father, I try to keep back the tears. He slowly pulls me into an embrace and I squeeze him, sighing and looking at him, though trying to avoid eye contact.

"Look after the kids for me... and dad too." I add with a small giggle.

He smiles back, not saying a word, which hurts me. The tears slowly come but I push them back. _If I cry now, what would they think of me?_ No words are spoken between us as we hug. I wish I could say something but if I do, the tears would come.

My sisters and brothers come in and we huddle together, trying to keep together for as long as we can.

I part last with Henry. I whisper that I am sorry to him, that I will come back. But he knows full well that if I do come back... I won't be the same.

I frown deeply when the Mayor's soon comes in. He slowly walks over to me. I glare at him.

"Why are you going Melia!? Why did you volunteer!?" he yells at me. I shake my saying a word. "Please Meli...tell me.." he pleaded. I sigh deeply. "Because I didn't want my sister there when I could save her." I respond.

He nods his before pulling me into a hug. Before he left I hand him my diary.

Soon Ivy comes in. We embrace for ages. I try to contain the tears but it's hard I know that once I leave I may not see her again.

"That was brave but very stupid Melia," she whispers to me, and I sigh.

"I know."

She wipes away the tears and I smile at her.

I've known Ivy for years now. She was my first friend and my best. She asks me what I am going to take to which I respond, saying that I am going to take the last gift my mother gave me, which is around my neck.

She smiles at me before leaving the room.

No one else comes.

* * *

 _Milo Briggs, District 11 Male- ChocolateChipHomicide_

The sun presses down on me, the heat surrounding me, clinging to my skin and turning the air thick. Sweat prickles the back of my neck. The oppressive heat swells and surges, the crowd swimming underneath the wavering lines of the air- an endless sea of familiar dark faces in front of me, dressed up in their finery- which, in District 11 equates to whatever shirt you've got that has the least piss on it.

I'd normally like the sun, but today it's decided to take a leaf out of the Capitol's book and be the biggest asshole it can be. As if today weren't shitty enough.

The crowd feels the heat too. Although by now there would be a stream of nervous chatter in the air- boys kissing their mothers goodbye, girls putting on an air of confidence, trying to quell the nerves with bravado, babies crying, parents weeping softly, feet tapping and old men whistling softly- it's barely a murmur today. Children file into their positions, squeezing their parents or siblings goodbye, waving to them over the crowd.

A Peacekeeper raps his baton against the wall, one-two-three sharp taps, shutting off the steady murmurings of the crowd. Mayor June strides up to the stage, with an air of "let's-just-get-this-over-with." She pulls out a card from her back pocket and starts reading in a monotonous drone, the words of the usual speech wafting over us. It's too hot to think properly. I fiddle with a thread that's come loose from my shirt, twisting it around one finger, braiding it. I hope this gives a sense of how mind-numbingly boring this all is. _Someone shoot me. Please._

I take the time to find my family in the crowd. I wave to my mother, and she waves weakly back, wrapping her shawl around herself. She's nervous, but what parent wouldn't be? Besides her is Martin, my little brother, clinging to her skirt and fiddling with his necklace, a sun and moon pendant. A little distance off stand Mirriam and her husband, in a baggy dress that accommodates her swollen, heavy stomach. She's eight months pregnant, and it's bloody all she ever talks about- _baby this, baby that, what are we going to call the baby, do you think it's a boy or a girl?_ They're planning to call it Mariah if it's a girl, and Miller if it's a boy. At least, those are the names they've got this week, since it changes maybe every five seconds.

Mayor June coughs, and continues, detailing how this 'great nation' of Panem rose out of the ashes of what had once been called North America. How the storms and floods, tsunamis and earthquakes split and flooded the land, how the useless leaders sat back and did nothing about it until it was too late. Nice one, humans, you can't live in one place for maybe a couple thousand years without fucking it all up. She goes on, detailing the first rebellion against the 'glorious' Capitol, which the Capitol somehow managed to win, though how I have no idea. Did they stab them with their high heels? Smother them with wigs? The Mayor doesn't say.

The logical step after a rebellion, of course, is child-murder. But not just any child-murder, no, _televised_ child-murder. Of course. Mayor June details the rise of the Hunger Games, decided by popular vote in the Capitol, and how we must offer up two kids to stab each other to death, because hey, why not, right?

She goes on to the second rebellion. You'd think that the rebels would have learned from their mistakes, but _no-o_ , they managed to screw that one up too. It took them seventy-four years to get pissed off enough about the annual Let's-Watch-Kids-Die-Yay-Fun-Games to actually do something about it, and when they did they didn't do shit to the Capitol. Didn't even nuke it once. What a disappointment.

She folds the paper up and sits down without being asked. Our escort, Bellona Agathe, takes to the stage, dressed garishly in her usual attire. She's been with District 11 for as long as I can remember, showing eerily no sign of her fifty-something years, no doubt because of a hundred and one plastic surgeries. I wouldn't be surprised if she bathed in the blood of virgins, or something, either. In the crowd of warm, brown, familiar faces she barely looks human, deathly pale and smothered in makeup.

I find my family once more, giving them a quick thumbs-up. We've got a special dinner planned for tonight, as most people do. A celebration of sorts, though Mother usually brings a choice portion of it to whomever's kid got Reaped. I managed to steal a few apples, Mirriam even bought us some rotten peaches, and I stabbed a groosling the other day in the fields. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. I hope we get this over with soon.

Bellona totters over to the girl's bowl, almost tripping on her heels. I hold my breath, praying to every deity I've heard of that she'll fall- but no, she makes it. Dammit. Well, there's always next year.

She pulls out the name with a flourish. I stare down at my feet, expecting the worst. It's a tactic of mine- if you expect the worst, then you can only ever be right, or pleasantly surprised. So here's what I think will happen: a twelve year old will be picked. No, a pregnant twelve year old. With cancer. And one limb.

Geez. Maybe the Reaping is getting to my head.

"Elise Lock!" Bellona calls out. I look up, spotting a tiny girl through the crowds. I barely have enough time to register this, however, before another voice calls out.

"I'll take her place!" A fair blonde girl jumps up, pulling her sister- I assume it's her sister, they look rather alike- behind her. I cock my head in surprise. District 11 hasn't had a volunteer in what, decades?

I stand on tiptoe to get a better look at her, as she stands up on the stage, Bellona congratulating her and asking the crowd for a round of applause. She's pale, which is the first thing I notice about her, since it's so incredibly uncommon to have anything but the familiar dark brown skin in Eleven. She stands out immensely, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, almost as strange in this District as Bellona's Capitol garb.

I'm so surprised about our volunteer this year that I barely register Bellona as she struts across the stage, swinging her arms beside her, making her way to the boys bowl. I don't hear the name she calls for the first time.

"Milo Briggs?" she asks into the microphone, scanning the crowd. "Milo Briggs?"

The name sounds familiar somehow. I look around, wondering why everyone's staring at me.

Oh. Right. It's my name.

I throw my head back. Of course, the one time when I didn't tell myself over and over that I would be picked, the one time I didn't prepare myself for the worse, the worst happened. _Are you fucking kidding me?_

There's a chortle next to me, and I realise I must have said that last line out loud. Well, who gives a shit, right? I don't suppose it matters now anyway. Now that I'm going to-

Oh fuck, I'm actually going to die. I'm actually going to…my stomach twists, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.

A Peacekeeper strides towards me, beckoning me up onto the stage.

"I'm coming," I croak, shaking him off. Somehow I manage to make it up to the stage, while Bellona congratulates me and Amelia again.

I can hear a small boy, crying faintly in the distance. Oh Christ. Martin, I'm so sorry. I scan the crowds, looking for my brother and find him sobbing, wedged between my mother and sister. Mirriam presses him to her swollen stomach, staring at my mother for comfort and finding only her tears, and they embrace, shaking with tears. The crowd looks at them, but not unkindly. They'll find gifts of food at their doorstep this evening, I'm sure.

Bellona pulls my hand so she can raise it with Amelia's. I look over the crowds, the pitiful, forced applause smattering off of them, the weathered, beaten-down faces and where I cannot bring myself to look, my family, sobbing against each other.

This is just not my day.

.

We crowd into the waiting room together, as a family. They surround me, envelop me, the same eyes, same dark skin, same thin hands stretched out towards me, hugging, consoling, a hotbed of energy and outpouring love. Martin, clutching my mother Melanie's skirt, Mirriam, eyes brimming over- and baby Mariah or Miller, I suppose I should count them too. And slightly to the left, Mirriam's fiance Stefen. It's always felt like he didn't fit in somehow. I wonder why.

Martin, tiny and glossy-eyed, clutches against my shirt, hugging me so hard it feels like his arms will break, as if he can hold me down against the floor, pin me to the safety of District 11, where things are safe and familiar and routine. How could I ever have been bored with it? Routine, I love routine. This is the opposite of routine. This is meant to happen to other people. I'm meant to go home tonight and eat the celebratory dinner and watch the Games and work in the fields and go to sleep at home next to Martin in our shack. I'm meant to see Mirriam's child be born, grow up, watch him or her live and eat and smile. I'm meant to grow up.

My mother manages to hold it together, just barely. Mirriam is weeping softly, and Stefan wraps his arms around her and lets her cry into his shoulder, while he stands stiff-necked.

I feel almost numb. Disconnected. I don't think my mind is fully on-board with what's going on. I can register my mother's eyes burning and Martin on my lap, pulling me into him, and Mirriam whispering I'm sorry over and over, though why I'm not sure. I turn around, silent, and stare out into the District. Orchards blooming with trees, glasshouses and endless seas of waving gold stalks. I suddenly feel an intense wave of homesickness. Everything is gold and warm and familiar, everything and everywhere home. I can see Martha's herbstand, the tiny swingset for the little kids where I used to push Martin, the peach tree where a flock of angry mockingjays nest. All the people I know, the friendly faces, the known faces, people I love and respect and work with, all of them. Okay, maybe not Old Man Granville, since he short-changed me for a pair of shoes last week. But everyone except him.

"Milo?" Mirriam puts a cool hand on my shoulder. "I want you to have this."

She holds out a carved wooden pendant, hanging from dried, braided grass. A sun and a moon, I recognise.

"No matter where you are-" she chokes off, swallows, and starts again. "No matter where you are, you'll still see the same sun and moon as us. You can look at them, and know…we're here for you, Milo. We love you."

I take the pendant with trembling fingers and string it about my neck.

"Thanks," I say, but all I can think is: _wow, that's so fucking cheesy it makes me want to vomit._

A Peacekeeper utters a word of warning, and suddenly I'm covered in warm arms, my face peppered with kisses, every inch of me covered. My mother wraps her arms around my waist, Martin on my lap, Mirriam smoothing my hair and everywhere I look there's love and affection and tears.

Too soon they're gone, and I'm alone with nothing but my thoughts and my time. Ticking away. I can see all of District 11, people dispersing from the crowds and fanning out to work, eat, drink, cry. My family will bolt their doors. There is no celebratory dinner for them.

Looking at the people, I feel a pang of longing slam into me. My family, my District, my future. I don't want to leave a single thing here behind.

Well, except Old Man Granville. Fuck that guy.

 _ **A/N: Hey guys! Celtic here! Please please please go on the forum! Check in, say hi, fill out your tribute's interview in the interviews topic! There are new deadlines for the Capitol chapters that are VERY important because even if they're all on time it'll still be July before we're in the Games. But PLEASE go make sure you know what you're doing and when to aim to be done with it. And the interviwes topic. Maybe I'll start a Training RP. PLEASE check in though! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, awesome writing you guys!**_


	16. District 12 Reapings

_Dahlia Meadowbrook, District 12 Female- superepicstarkette1211_

Usually, the square is a beautiful, pleasant place to be. That's not the case today. Today is the day of the Reaping. My usual schedule is pretty monotonous: wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, go to the Meadow with Mayzee and Emberlynn, come home, have dinner, write stories, go to sleep, repeat. The day of the Reaping is one of the only days that is different. My life is not very exciting. I really wish my dad wasn't the Mayor sometimes.

Anyway, today is the Reaping. I choose to wear a silky, royal purple dress that reaches to about my knees with capped sleeves, some black flats, and my favorite necklace. It consists of a gold chain with a charm of a dahlia hanging from it. I tie my unruly blond hair into a high ponytail. I walk down the stairs to see that my dad was just leaving.

"Where you going Dad?" I ask. I'm a bit disappointed, since we almost _always_ spend the day of the Reaping together.

"I have some business to take care of at the prison," he repliesd. I can tell it's serious by his tone of voice. I decide not to keep him any longer, so I go to make myself breakfast. Since I woke up early, I decide to make muffins. Ever since I was little, I've had a love for cooking. While the muffins are in the oven, Eden comes down from her room and asks me what I was doing, so I tell her.

"Aren't you nervous?" she asks in her innocent voice. I conclude that it'd be best if I tell her a half-lie.

"No," I reply cleverly. I accentuate my false confidence with a laugh. It's part of the truth. I'm not nervous, I am absolutely terrified.

"But what if you get picked?"

"Then I'll try really hard to get back to you. I promise."

A little while later, Dad comes home and we all enjoy breakfast. Then, we all walk to the Reaping. That's where I run into my best friends, Mayzee and Emberlynn Fiora. They are twin sisters from the poorer part of the District, nicknamed the Seam.

I know what you're thinking. _How can the Mayor's daughter be friends with girls from the Seam?_ Well, it's a very long story from a long time ago. In other words, I'm not telling you yet. I know, I'm the biggest troll in Panem. I can hear you laughing at my antics now.

"Hey Lia," Emberlynn and Mayzee say simultaneously. They do that a lot. It gets kind of creepy.

"Hey guys!" I shout.

"No need to yell. We're right here." There's silence for a few seconds before we all bust a gut laughing.

However, by the time we check in, we're nearly in tears. They hang out together in the thirteen year old section while I go to the fifteen year old one. A few minutes later, our escort and mentor, Dominica Bluegrass, comes on stage.

"Welcome everyone to the 97th annual Hunger Games. As per usual, we have a special video direct from the Capitol." I'm too focused on Dominica's outfit to notice the video. With her blue theme and orange clothing, she looks like the sunset. It's actually quite pretty, the idea of the sunset. All too soon, the video is over, and the most nerve-wracking part of the afternoon begins: the Reaping for the Games of Doom and Death and Destruction.

"This year we are going to switch things up a little bit and start with the young man." She walks over to the boys' bowl and takes out a slip of paper.

"Aspen Drake!"

I then hear someone call out, "I volunteer…" My dad walks up to him and says a few words.

"And what would your name be?"

"Scott Calsworth." I recognize that name. Dad had him apprehended for rebellious behavior. I don't trust him at all.

"Onto the ladies," Dominica says as she walks over to the girls' bowl.

"Mayzee Fiora!" _No, not Mayzee. Anyone but Mayzee. Someone, anyone volunteer please._ Nobody does. That's when I get the most stupid idea I'd ever had. So stupid that it just might work.

In my moment of. desperation, I say five words that would seal my fate, which could be my doom. "I volunteer as a tribute!" My dad is starting to get up until I subtly shake my head. He sits back down as I climb up to the stage.

"Another volunteer, and your name is?"

"Dahlia Meadowbrook."

"Let's get a hand for this year's tributes, Scott Calsworth and Dahlia Meadowbrook." We are escorted to the room where we would say our final goodbyes.

The first person to come in is Eden. She looks to be in tears.

"Don't cry Eden," I say quietly.

"But Lia, I might not see you ever again."

"It'll be okay. I promise. Remember what I said this morning?"

"That you would try really hard to win."

"Of course I will." She's escorted out by a Peacekeeper and is replaced with my father.

"Dahlia Maria Meadowbrook, what were you thinking?" he chastises me. I naturally think that he hates me, so I start yelling.

"Mayzee and Emberlynn need each other! They're twins! But no one needs me! You obviously care about Eden more than me!"

"Of course not, I've always loved you. And I'll make sure that the twins get enough to eat."

"Thanks dad." I'm on the verge of tears by then. He leaves and Mayzee and Emberlynn come into the room.

"Why did you volunteer for me?" Mayzee inquires.

"Because you and Emberlynn need each other."

"But we need you too," Emberlynn mumbles.

"Remember, no matter what happens, you have to stay strong."

"We know."

"Good." We soon start singing one of my favorite songs.

They have to leave and a few minutes later, I board the Train of Doom. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuun!

What will happen to me next, no one knows.

I just hope that my death is fast, for Eden's sake.

* * *

 _Scott Calsworth, District 12 Male- WizardDemigodGladerGatekeeper_

The dark walls of the desolate room seem to converge onto my very being, suffocating me. I resist the urge to run up and claw at the bars. The small, dim light in the doorway swings, casting daunting shadows across the gray surfaces. It makes an eerie creaking sound as it swings, only adding to the misery that claws at the very ground of this place.

Somewhere underneath my feet, I hear guttural screams of some person being tortured. I shiver; the mere thought of what they're doing to the person down there is enough to make me want to throw up. A wave of nausea washes over me. I wonder what crime they're punishing him for. The chair on which I sit feels warm, probably because I have spent majority of my time these last few days sitting in this very spot, thinking about the circumstances that led to this.

District Twelve's prison isn't the most cheerful place to be. Once you enter, even the food serves as a reminder of your crimes. The very atmosphere threatens to drive you insane. The prisoners who've been here for a long time look like they've given up any hope of ever getting out. And the ones who've suffered torture at the Capitol's hands barely resemble human beings. Some of the luckier ones are now dead.

The cool surface of the steel key I hold in my hand gleams with my sweat. My finger is numb from rubbing it continuously for the last hour or two. But this action calms me down, so I continue. I stare at the key so hard, I'm frankly a little surprised it doesn't melt under my gaze. My hair falls into my eyes, but I don't take the effort of brushing it away. As if people here would pay attention to my appearance.

"Rubbing that key aint gonna change the facts. The truth, kid, is that you stole the wrong damn key. You aint gettin' out of here anytime soon." I hear a voice beside me, and look to see another prisoner holding the bars of his cell, looking back at me with a smirk. His cell is adjacent to mine, so it creeps me out that he can see everything I'm doing.

"I know this is the wrong key." I shoot back at him. "I didn't steal the key because I wanted to escape. I stole it because I couldn't help it."

The man laughs. "That's right. I forgot. You're a freak. Right then, I won't stop you. Admire the bloody key all you want. But next time you steal some'n, take care to steal the key to my cell, understood?" he orders, then proceeds to walk back to his own little spot at the corner of his cell. I flinch at his statement; I've been called a freak more times than I'd like.

Rubbing the key calms me down. It focuses my mind on something, which helps me keep a grip on my sanity. The very air that I breathe in this place threatens to suck the sanity out of my mind. This helps me keep myself sane. I'm not crazy yet. Not any others can say that.

A sudden clanging noise shifts my gaze away from the key. I look up to see a giant of a man in a white suit, holding what I've come to know as a gun. The Peacekeeper's expression isn't visible under his insect-like mask, but I get the feeling he's smirking. He's holding the gun to the bars of my cell; he probably banged them to get my attention. Subtlety has no place in their minds apparently.

"Scott Calsworth?" He asks in a gruff voice. I nod, standing up from my chair. I see as he brings out a silver key and inserts it into the lock of my cell. The door creaks open and I am left confused. I can't possibly be bailed, could I? There's no one in my family with that enormous amount of money. Grandma can't possibly afford so much, and there's no way Ray could pay for my bail.

I get up, an unsure look on my face. I open my mouth to voice my doubts, but there's no way these Peacekeepers'll let a 'Seam-scum' like me ask questions. He bangs the gun against the bars of the Prison again, making me flinch. "I'm coming…" I mutter. I walk out the door, and immediately feel the tip of a gun burying itself in my lower back. Of course. These people wouldn't want to take any chances. I could easily swipe the gun out of his hands, but I don't want to get into deeper trouble than I already am in.

He leads me through a maze of corridors, so complicated, that I soon forget my bearings. My flannel clothes cling to my thin form with the sweat that has cooled. This part of the prison must be the place the Jailer and Peacekeepers stay. It's fairly cool. I wonder how; this doesn't feel like natural air. I raise my hands in the slightest, almost surprising myself for the thousandth time by the simple fact of how thin I've become. I wasn't the biggest guy to go around, but now, I look underfed. Which, of course, I am.

After what feels like ages, we finally stop in front of a wooden door. I catch a whiff of the smell of the wood and somehow I can tell it's not from Twelve. This must be the room of someone special. The Peacekeeper opens the door and roughly shoves me inside. Before I get to take in my surroundings, I hear a click behind me, and know that the door has been closed.

I look around to see an aristocratic room which obviously has been designed by some designer from the Capitol. Petal shaped lights adorn the ceiling. The floor is covered in a velvety carpet. The sofa seems to be made out of a pure black material that I recall learning as leather. The person for whom this room is must be very rich indeed. My eyes wander to the sole other occupant of the room and my suspicions are confirmed. But my confusion is further aroused.

"Mayor Meadowbrook?" my voice comes out small. I honestly don't know how to greet him after the fiasco that occurred last week. This is the reason I was in prison. He is the reason. However, I can't let my spite of him take me over. I need to keep a calm mind. It is no use falling into worse trouble than I already am in.

But I simply can't stop my eyes from travelling in all different directions, hungrily absorbing the many items which catch my attention. How simple would it be to run over and snatch one of those shiny golden glasses? Or maybe one of those forks on the Mayor's table? I shake my head to relieve myself of my fancies. All I need is another mistake to earn me the torture I'd managed to evade. Strangely enough, I think I can do without that.

Mayor Meadowbrook takes his own sweet time, sipping a bronzed cup of what I hope is only tea. There's no telling with these people. I stand rooted to my spot, unable to tell what is going on. Why in the world would he come to meet me? In a prison that too? So I do the logical thing. I wait for him to answer.

He sets down the cup and smiled at me. If he hadn't been the one to send me to prison, I would've thought his smile was actually kind. However, I know the truth. I simply set my lips in a straight line and look at him, narrowing my eyes in the slightest. He lets out a knowing laugh.

"Scott Calsworth…" That's it. Just my name. That's all he says. He sits forward and knits his fingers together. His eyes travel to the chair in front of him, then back at me. "Sit." He orders. At first I find myself unsure of what to do, but when he raises an eyebrow questioningly, I manage to convince myself that doing what he says is probably the best thing to do at the moment. I stiffly walk over to the chair and sit down. I immediately finger the soft velvet that seats me. I resist running my hands over it; I've never felt anything so smooth in my life. My eyes wander to the table, and I spot a shiny silver pen lying mere inches from me. My fingers itch to take it, but I stop myself yet again. The Mayor's words draw my attention away from the object of my interest.

"Scott, you do know why you're here, yes?" He asks. I nod. _Of course. As if I could forget._ He lets out a sigh. "I've been told that trying to get the reason of your crime out of you is futile. My boy, admitting it will end your time in this prison. Tell us of the rebels, and we will grant you immunity."

"Mayor, I can't say this any more times than I already have. I am not part of any rebel group. What happened… I had no rebellious intent. I just-" my sentence if cut off mid-way by the man facing me. He sits back and throws his hands in the air.

"Scott, why would anyone steal a disk with classified Capitol information if they weren't part of some rebel group?" I resist overturning the table. How am I supposed to explain this? He simply refuses to see logic. My hands shake at my sides. He takes my hesitation as surrender. He leans back into his chair and spreads his hands.

"Scott, dear Scott… What should I say…" He smiles.

My stomach turns at the upturning of his lips. "Sir, I-"

He cuts me off once again. "Listen. We can inflict torture on you. We can do anything we want. I'm sure you have heard of our methods. You can evade all of that. All you need to do is give us the information we need."

That's when I snap. It's been way too long. No one even bothers to hear me out. I've been convicted for allegedly knowing something I have no clue of. I slam my hands against the table and jump to my feet. "I'm NOT a rebel! You have no idea what happened!" My eyes see red. The Mayor seems taken aback by my outburst, but I have been pushed to my breaking point.

"I'M A KLEPTOMANIAC!"

The words finally find their way out of my mouth. I slump back into my seat, finally exhausted. I bury my head in my hands. I only have my cursed mania to blame for my situation. I'm known for causing petty thefts, but nothing has ever gotten so far. I' a master thief, but often people think it's because I need money. It isn't.

I simply can't explain it. I can't see to control my hands. They work on their own. And the next thing I know, I'm holding someone else's wallet. It isn't because I need money. It isn't because I'm some part of a rebellion. I'm a kleptomaniac, whose mania has gotten out of control. And it isn't as though there's a psychiatrist here in Twelve who can help me.

The incident I sit here for happened last week. I'd been at the Hob, District Twelve's local market, and so had been the Mayor. He'd been buying some ornament for his daughter. I'd been buying some milk for my grandma. Then, committing the biggest mistake of my life, I glanced towards him.

Something shiny in his pocket caught my eye. My kleptomania flared up. I simply couldn't think. Before I could stop myself, I'd begun inching forward. My eyes had been set on the object. Somewhere at the back of my mind I'd known what I'd been doing was wrong, but my mania hadn't allowed me to stop. It coursed through my veins, the desire to snatch the object from his pocket.

And that's what I had done.

As it turned out, it wasn't some ordinary shiny object. As I'd tried to run, Peacekeepers had caught me. Usually when this happened, they let me go after a few beatings. But this time, that wasn't the case. I didn't pick up on much as they dragged me off to prison, but later I'd been told that the object I'd tried to steal was a disk which contained confidential Capitol information.

This had led them to believe that I was part of some secret rebel group, trying to launch a surprise attack on the Capitol. No matter what I told them, they refused to believe me. Every time they'd ask me the same question. I'd tried justifying myself, but no one bought it.

My fists shake. I can see the Mayor contemplating my words. "I had no idea what was in the disk. I just saw it, and… I couldn't control myself… I can't help it…" my voice breaks in the slightest. I'm not a weak person. Years of being laughed at and mocked for my mania had made me strong. But even _I_ have a limit. And these people have broken it. "I've been a kleptomaniac since the age of three. Sir, I have no connections with any rebel group. I only stole the disk because of my mania. Sir, please…" I look down, refusing to let the tears fall.

The Mayor sighs. "Scott Calsworth. Yes, it is true, I have heard of your infamous mania. You're the first to be heard of in Twelve here. However, what you did is inexcusable. I cannot let you off scott-free." He pauses, musing at his pun. I almost roll my eyes; how can he joke around when the question is literally of my life?

"So, Scott, I am faced with a three choices. First one is to ignore everything you've told me, and subject you to the torture we inflict on people who don't tell us what we want to hear." My face pales, and he shoots me an amused glance, as though I'm a cute little dog who just yipped. "The second, is to hang you for your crimes."

I almost fall from my seat. Heavens, what have I gotten myself into? My eyes widen, and my fingers grip the handles of the sofa so hard, my already pale knuckles turn white. I wait for him to continue; hoping the third option is less cruel.

"The third is the most interesting. The best way to show up any rebel group is to show them our power. And the best way to do that is to send one of their own into the Games."

My mind barely comprehends what he says. "You, Scott, will volunteer for the Hunger Games. If you are indeed telling the truth, we will grant you complete immunity if you win the Hunger Games. If you aren't, well, maybe the trauma of the Games will be enough to make you tell us your secrets. Of course, if you die in the Games, we won't have anything to worry about."

My jaw drops open. _Me… volunteer… for the Games!?_

"NO!" I yell. I jump to my feet yet again, and break out into a cold sweat. This is beyond inhumane.

Mayor Meadowbrook's eyes narrow at me, almost like he's reprimanding me. "Scott, I don't think you understand. The first two options hold certain death for you. This one, however, gives you the slightest chance of being free. It's your choice."

I can feel my breathing become uneven. The temperature in the room seems to drop by another ten degrees. I want to run out the door, run far away. But I know the Peacekeepers won't let me go fifty feet without putting two bullets in my head.

I know the first two options hold certain death. No matter how much they torture me, I won't be able to say anything because I don't know anything. In the end, they might make me a slave, or they might even kill me. The second option screams death. The third, however... It may seem stupid and incredibly rash, but currently, that option is the only one that doesn't guarantee my death. And if I win, not only will I be granted immunity, but I will escape this hellhole. Obviously the chances of me dying in the Games are high, but the odds are better than the first two.

Every instinct screams at me that this is wrong. Logic goes against this. But this may just be the only action that can save me.

"I'll volunteer…"

The Mayor smiles. He rises from his seat and claps my back. "I knew you were a clever boy. In that case, Scott, I wish you luck. It's not every day we see a Victor from Twelve." He walks out the door, leaving me alone in the room to think over my situation. I'm not even allowed some privacy, because moments later, the Peacekeepers swarm the office and I am led out. I hear murmurs of getting me ready for the Reapings. The Mayor must have ordered this. I am led to a fancy washroom, and plain clothes are thrust into my hands. The outfit consists of a navy blue pair of jeans and a simple green T-shirt. Before I can react, I am shoved into the washroom and the door is bolted behind me.

I almost break down, but remember my situation. I won't do, breaking down and crying like a baby. I need to be strong. I need to be stable. I curse my mania under my breath. If I hadn't been a kleptomaniac, none of this would have happened. But now that I'm in this mess, I need to stay strong. I need to be a rock. Taking a deep breath, I quickly change into my clothes. They feel comfortable, but I would wear my grandmother's hand woven clothes any day. I steal a glance in the mirror, looking at my reflection.

I'm extremely pale. That's the first thing anyone notices about me. It seems as though the colour from my body has been bleached. I stand tall for my age at five Ten and a half, with a slim build. My eyes are, as my grandmother calls them, startlingly green. My dark brown hair sweeps over my brow in its usual kiddish style. I look younger than my seventeen years of age. Due to being underfed the past week in jail, my cheeks are slightly sunken. However, my archy eyebrows still give the feeling that I'm up to something. I've been told I look a lot like an elf. It's some ancient mythical creature or something. They might've taught that in school, but I'd probably been too busy planning a prank on someone at that point.

I hesitantly walk out the door, and once again, my arms are seized by the Peacekeepers. The Square is right beside the prison, so all we need to do is walk out the door. Once out, I notice the eight thousand people of District Twelve milling around, anxiously waiting for the names of two unfortunate kids who will have to face the Hunger Games. What they don't know is that one of those unfortunate people's name is Scott Calsworth.

I am led to the Seventeen-year-old boys section, just as our escort, Dominica Bluegrass walks gracefully onto the podium. She is actually one of the better escorts. She's a little too cheerful, but that's what escorts are always. Her hair is a long flowing blue, and her fair skin is a very subtle shade of blue. Her gown is a sunrise orange, and I understand what she's doing. She's the sky; the dress is the sunrise. It actually looks pretty. She's older of escorts; probably in her forties. As she begins to speak, I feel someone pinch my arm.

I look to the side to see my best and pretty much only friend, Raydon Shafts. My eyes widen on seeing his face, and I engulf him in a hug. We quickly pull away so as to not have the Peacekeepers yell at us, though I can't imagine they can do much worse to me. Raydon is practically like a brother to me. He's an orphan, and he shares my prankster personality, minus the kleptomania. His eyes ask me how I am, but I look away. Dominica walks up to the boy's bowl first; she must have made an exception this year to call the boys first. I hold my breath. This is the moment.

"Aspen Drake!"

This is it. I shut my eyes tight and raise my hand.

"I volunteer!"

Ray's eyes look like shattered glass. "Scott, no!" he tries to stop me, but I'm already moving. Peacekeepers have to hold him back. I look over to where the families are and spot my Grandma silently crying, her lips quivering. Tears spring to my eyes, but I cannot cry in front of the whole country. I walk onto the stage, and catch a glimpse of the Mayor, who gives me a pleased smile. Dominica offers me the microphone to say something, but I simply shake my head. She shrugs.

"We do indeed have a brave boy! A volunteer! If you won't say anything, at least tell us your name!" she holds out the microphone to me once more.

I take a shaky breath and speak into it. "Scott Calsworth." My voice sounds fragile.

Dominica pats me on the back and moves towards the girl's section. I drown her out again, but as she reads out the name, I catch "Mayzee."

"I volunteer as a tribute!"

This shocks me so much I actually stumble back. A girl runs out of the fifteen year old section, and my breath catches itself in my throat. The Mayor jumps from his seat too.

Dahlia Meadowbrook. The Mayor's daughter.

I don't know what to feel. On one hand, I can't believe she would leave her comfortable life and volunteer. And for whom? I can't seem to place Mayzee. However, as she walks up to the stage, I see the Mayor sit back down on his seat, lips set in a firm line, not letting a word escape. He knows he is helpless. I don't know whether to feel smug because he knows what I must be feeling. I settle for simply feeling angry. Angry towards my mania. Angry towards the Mayor and Capitol for putting me through this.

As the escort asks Dahlia her name, I can feel some of my anger direct itself towards her. Her father has put me in this situation. I can see her giving me a glare too, as we reach out to shake hands. I have no idea why, but I reciprocate the glare. It isn't too bad, but enough to let the other know what we feel.

As we are pulled into the Justice Building, I can only wonder how I'll show my face to my Grandmother and Raydon. I'm escorted into the waiting room, and the door seems to just have closed when it's thrown open again by my Grandma. Raydon is with her. She runs in and pulls me into the tightest hug I've ever gotten.

"Scott, oh my boy…" She sobs into my hair.

I see Ray looking at me with moist eyes. "Scott… why?" his voice is close to breaking.

My Grandma pulls away and wipes her eyes. "Yes Scott. Why did you do it? I could lose you!" I have never seen her like this. She's usually so firm and stoic. Now she's distraught.

I slowly explain the whole thing to them. Whatever has happened. Their eyes grow big, and by the end, Ray's jaw is somewhere on the ground. Grandma hugs me tight once more. "Damn those cruel beasts!" She exclaims. She lets me go and cups my face. "Scott, show them that you're innocent. Tell them you did nothing. I know you can do this. You will come back to me. I won't lose my boy so easily." She practically orders me.

I'm literally holding back tears as I nod a meek yes. "I'll try Grandma. I'll try for you. I'll try for Ray. If I can do this, I can gain immunity. I'll be free. I won't go back into that godforsaken place. And we'll be able to live in the Victor's Village. Trust me Grandma. I'm going to try my best to come back to you."

Somehow, it feels as though I'm simply reassuring her. She lets out another loose sob and kisses my forehead. "That's my boy…" she manages. As she moves back, Raydon takes me into a hug.

"Scott, I know you can do this. You have a few skills. You're stealthy. Please Scott. Please try to come back…" his voice finally breaks, but he doesn't look away as he pulls back. Instead, his Seam gray eyes bore into mine. "Try, okay?"

I nod once again. The Peacekeepers walk in and pull them away. Grandma gives me a last hug, and I feel the tears finally break through. As they are led out, I slump against the chair and bury my face in my hands. They are my only visitors. I expect the Mayor to come and give me some warnings, but he doesn't. He must want to spend his moments with his daughter.

The most I can do is try to keep my emotions at bay as I wait to be escorted to the trains.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey Guys! Wizard here! I'm so honored to be writing with these guys! I hope you guys like my character!**

 **Celtic here! We're officially one with the reapings! I'm putting up a poll now so you can choose your favorite, just 'cause. I'm letting there be two choices so we can all be biased towards our own and then pick someone else's as well. So look for that.**

 **NOW THAT WE'RE DONE WITH REAPINGS, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CHECK THE FORUM. THERE ARE DUE DATES THERE FOR CAPITOL CHAPTERS. PLEASE, THIS STORY WILL DIE WITHOUT EVERYONE CHECKING THE DEADLINES! **

**Thanks guys! It'll be a couple weeks at least until the Capitol chapters begin.**


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